Catch and Release
by Basscop69
Summary: Historical CB fic: 'He promised himself this would be the final time he'd have to watch her walk away...of course, fate would never be that kind'. Rated T for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"She's not my responsibility!"

Bart's eyes were cold as he surveyed his son, but Chuck saw it; the flash of disappointment. Weary.

"You will make her your responsibility." His voice was flat and offered no argument; because once Bart gave an order, it was carried out.

Chuck's jaw clenched, ever so slightly - but he wasn't Bartholemew Bass' son for nothing, and there was no flicker of any other emotion from him.

"Fine," he answered, short and low. "As you wish, father."

"Good." Bart was already glancing to the clock on his study wall. "I have business to conduct. But I've invited mother and daughter over for dinner tonight, and I expect you to take care of Miss Waldorf."

"Mrs. Archibald," Chuck corrected, almost a snap. "Her husband's only been in his grave a week."

Bart acted like he hadn't spoken, eyes merely narrowing at his insolent tone. Permanent frown lines. "They'll be arriving at eight." His attention returned to the documents on his desk, dismissing his son. "And Charles?" His eyes didn't even lift for the briefest second. "Make sure you're not wearing that purple tie."

Chuck gritted his teeth, swallowing the unpleasant taste in his mouth. "Yes, father."

He stalked out.

...

"I'm not going."

"Don't be ridiculous, Blair."

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at the pale girl before her, thinking with a flicker of irritation that the black dress she was wearing really did nothing for her. Why must her daughter look so washed out?

"Bart Bass has kindly invited us to dinner, and it would be rude to refuse."

"I'm in mourning, mother," Blair answered icily.

But Eleanor's tone was fifty degrees colder; "I think that much is obvious, _dear." _

Blair was aware she shouldn't even have _cared_ - but it was instinctive; ingrained - the look her mother gave her was enough to make her shrivel up, just that bit more, inside.

_Not enough._

"Now," Eleanor smiled, back to pleasant. "Why don't you go and change into something a little more...enchanting, hmm?"

Blair struggled to control her expression, the bile rising in her throat.

"I want you properly dressed in the parlor by half seven, Blair - and if you could remember how to _smile_, it would be much appreciated."

"Fine," Blair bit out, shaking, and left.

...

It had been too painful, seeing her at the funeral.

Her face was hidden by a black veil, but he saw, even from the opposite pew, the tremble of her slight shoulders under her cloak.

The smiling portrait of his - best friend, even if they'd barely spoken for so long, because it was _Nate - _seemed to overwhelm the slender frame in black that sat underneath it. She didn't cry, and neither did he. He saw her back, ramrod straight, her head raised. He knew when he took her hand to kiss it, cold even beneath the glove, that her fingernails had been pressed into her palm the whole time.

She could've cried under the veil, but Blair Waldorf would never cry in public.

She'd have done her sobbing already; not in a church filled with people, when everyone was talking about what a _great man _and _wonderful son _Nathaniel the hero was.

Had been.

That wasn't _their _Nate; the easy laugh, one strong arm ready to wrap around Blair or punch anyone that Chuck wouldn't; the hazy smell of narcotics, expensively creased suits and confused blue eyes that yearned for the sea, or freedom, or...something. Nate never did seem to know what, and Chuck never cared.

But everyone was always perfect at their own funeral.

He'd caught her before they'd gone in, and he hadn't been able to say anything; just pressed her hand to his lips with a murmur of, "Blair."

She'd looked too small and too alone next to the shadow of her mother; there was no one to wrap an arm around her, to support her or keep her warm. Her poise had been perfect, and all Chuck had wanted was for someone to hold her. Stupid girl.

The last time he'd seen her, she'd been wearing a veil too; but a white one, decked head to toe in lace and diamonds - a picture of perfect purity as she moved down the aisle to her groom. He had declined Nate's offer to be his best man.

He couldn't stay for long, at the wedding - business in Boston - and anyway, he knew Nate's cousin Tripp wanted it more. Tripp van der Bilt had been over the moon when he was asked instead.

Nate had insisted on giving him a seat at the front, though - and he'd mistimed his late arrival. She was in the foyer, alone, when he came in; everyone else was sitting down, waiting for her entrance. He'd been hoping to slip in at the back and miss the whole thing.

They had stared at each other in silence.

She'd wanted to make a pointed snipe at his lateness - dark hair windswept, droplets of water still gathered on the broad shoulders of his black coat - and he'd wanted to make a lewd comment about _ravishing, _but their voices had stuck in their throats.

She was so achingly beautiful in the church's candlelight that he hated her.

He _hated _her.

"Blair bear, are you ready?"

Their gazes had snapped apart, jolted, at her father's appearance.

"Ah, Charles." His glance, while warm as ever, was ever so slightly curious; "Aren't you meant to be inside already?"

Chuck cleared his throat. "My apologies." His eyes slid to Blair's, and their gazes met one last time, the fraction of a second; "I think I've arrived too late."

She broke the connection first, head ducking, and he managed a smile at Harold instead - "But do go in. I'll just stay at the back."

The first chords of the string quartet sounded on the other side of the door; Pachabel's Canon in D.

"That's our cue," Harold caught Blair's cheeks. "Are you ready, my darling?"

She lifted her head. "Let's go."

Harold lowered the veil over her face, shadowing her brown eyes, and Chuck moved aside to let them pass.

She was right next to him for a moment, and before he moved back, he murmured, very softly, into her ear; "You look beautiful, Waldorf."

Her head remained erect, but he saw her eyelashes flutter closed, even behind the veil.

"Goodbye, Chuck."

The doors opened, revealing the packed out church, Nate waiting at the other end.

"Goodbye, Blair." She couldn't have heard him; she was already walking away, down the aisle, as the congregation got to their feet.

And Chuck promised himself this would be the final time he'd have to watch her walk away.

Of course, fate would never be that kind.

Despite the shining sun - only Nate would have blue skies at his funeral - the graveyard had been icy, forcing the mourners to huddle together as the coffin was lowered into the ground.

Not Chuck, lurking at the back; and not Blair, standing alone at the front.

The Captain had beckoned him over, though - Chuck was Nate's best friend, and he deserved his place at the front. Chuck didn't have the heart to correct a grown man who was struggling not to cry, so he took his place next to Blair.

They stood in silence till the coffin disappeared completely; and then he heard her breath catch, almost inaudible, and it occurred to him that this was the last he'd ever see of his best friend; and then he was suddenly gripping Blair's hand, squeezing it, tight, in his. Blair didn't say anything, but she didn't pull away; and he let her press her fingernails into him instead until the final rites had been read.

She broke away at the end, and he had to watch as she departed, a tiny figure, alone.

...

Neither had noticed the eyes of their parents. Watching the dark couple - they really were a handsome pair, two dark heads and two pairs of dark eyes, matching in black, hands interlinked and faces white - and the idea took root in that moment.

Two minds working overtime.

A widowed daughter needed financial support; Eleanor had just had one beautiful union snatched away from her - years of planning from two families come to nothing - and she was all too aware of the threat of being burdened with a spinster child for the rest of her life.

The image of a loose libertine for a son, meanwhile, did nothing for business; the way things were going at the moment, Bart was in danger of his legacy ending up in the hands of some bastard grandchild. Or squandered at the bottom of a burlesque club. He had accepted the fact that the Waldorf's old money was tied up with the Archibalds - but with a certain Archibald now out of the way...

Two pairs of eyes met over the dark heads of their children. Eleanor regarded Bart with a smile, and he allowed his own lips to curl, thinly, back.

An idea indeed.

...

**A/N Title comes from the film 'Catch and Release', which inspired the idea for this fic. **

**Reviews are always hugely appreciated :) Just to know if this is worth continuing...And future chapters should be longer! **


	2. Chapter 2

_Three years ago_

"Dance with me?"

Blair was stopped on her way back from the powder room - where she'd gone to take a break from her society smile - by a smirking Chuck in full morning suit.

She allowed him to wrap his arm around her waist and lead her to floor. It was a relief; after the company she'd just been forced to endure, Chuck was exactly what she needed.

She moved through the steps, lifting a hand to smooth his bow tie - which was not as perfectly knotted as it had been at the start of the evening. "Which bridesmaid did you choose to bed this time?" she enquired, eyebrows arched. "The one missing the top of her dress, or the one who looked fresh from a brothel?"

He merely grinned back. "Actually, I didn't have to choose."

She rolled her eyes, giving the tie a final tug. A none too gentle tug, either.

"You're disgusting."

"I am," he agreed contentedly.

She scowled, and he chuckled, glancing down at her properly. She wasn't in the best of moods, and he suspected it had something to do with the absence of her betrothed and best friend.

"And where are the golden twins?"

She sighed. "Serena had too much champagne. She was at risk of embarrassing herself, so I asked Nate to take her outside. Although I don't think he was in the best of states either." She sniffed. "Usually, I'd blame you, but since you've found a cheap alternative to girls as depraved as you are..."

"My my, we're feeling feisty today," he answered with a playful squeeze of her waist.

She scoffed. Then she noticed her mother looking at her pointedly from across the ballroom.

"Wonderful," she muttered. "Just what I need."

Chuck followed her gaze, and smirked. It was in consolidation, though; they both knew what that was like.

"Want me to whisk you onto a balcony and avoid the talk with mother dearest?"

She couldn't help but grin, faintly, at that, and his own grin broadened; "Or maybe you just want me to whisk you onto a balcony so we can-"

"You're disgusting, Chuck."

He shrugged, eyes gleaming with amusement. "It was worth an attempt."

Eleanor was frowning at her now, and Blair sighed.

"Wish me luck."

Chuck accompanied her over; Eleanor was tapping her foot with impatience.

"Finally. Where's Nathaniel, Blair?"

Blair exchanged the briefest eye roll with Chuck. "He went outside for some air. He wasn't feeling well."

"Well, that's no good," Eleanor snapped - because clearly, this was Blair's fault. "I wanted to introduce the two of you to the Hamiltons before we left." She sighed in irritation. "Very well. Go and get your coat; your father has a headache. We're going home."

So saying, she swept off.

Blair made a face.

Chuck had recently noticed that Harold Waldorf's 'headaches' occurred whenever he'd had something to drink and there were young men around. Not that he'd said as much to Blair; not to daddy's little girl.

"Will you look after Nate and Serena? Make sure they both get back in one piece."

Chuck stifled a groan; he'd dealt with Serena when she'd had 'too much champagne' before, and she was a walking, squealing nightmare.

"Fine, but you owe me a favour." He half smirked; "In fact, I'm sure I could think of a way for you to repay me."

"Just look after them, Chuck."

He rolled his eyes, though it was fondly. "Anything for you." He caught the small of her back, guiding her to the cloakroom. "Now, let's get your coat before Eleanor decides to leave you here..."

...

Chuck pushed open the door leading to the balcony with a sense of foreboding - because he recognised those laughs. Both of them.

His mouth curled as he moved further in. He'd been right.

Nate and Serena were in the room below; Serena with her skirts pushed up around her thighs, locked in an embrace with her best friend's fiance, who was kissing her like no Blair had ever existed. (Which made sense, because he always seemed to forget that fact anyway when he was with Serena).

The worst thing was that all of it felt so inevitable. Hadn't it only been a matter of time before Nate gave in to his desire; before hurricane Serena made another mess of it all?

Everything they'd all worked for - Nate's abstinence, Chuck's guiding him onto the right path, Serena's dragging Blair into the spotlight, Blair's determination - all blown to nothing now. That part of Chuck that loved disruption and destruction should have been reveling in it.

Except he didn't get to control this destruction.

Because it was going to come out - all of it. It was just a question of when.

Shaking his head, he slipped out, closing the door behind him.

"Chuck Bass."

He froze. His blood curdled automatically; he recognized that sickly voice.

Georgina Sparks.

That was all he needed.

He turned to face her; she was leaning against a column, smirking, champagne glass clutched between long nails.

"What are you doing up here all alone, Chuckie?"

His lip curled, his voice immediately curt. "None of your business." He tried to move past her - trying at the same time to distract her, divert her from the door. "If you'll excuse me."

Georgina's smirk widened. "Hiding something, are we?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, just trying to get away from you. I've had enough psychotic for one day."

But it was too late; he'd seen that deranged glint in her blue eyes. The one that only spelled trouble.

Chuck Bass enjoyed destruction, but Georgina _lived_ for it. He may have been a masochist, but he hadn't been exaggerating - he wasn't psychotic about it.

Georgina could _not _know about Nate and Serena.

But she was too fast for him; she was suddenly at the door. He lunged for her, too late - she'd already yanked it open and disappeared inside.

His heart sank to his stomach.

When she re-emerged, her eyes were positively _luminous_ with delight. "Well, well."

The time for niceties was over.

Chuck grabbed her arm, repressing a shudder at the contact with her bare skin, and bored down into her.

"If you mention this to anyone," he stated, voice a deadly growl; "I will destroy you. I mean that, Georgina."

She merely laughed, the sound grating at his skin. "Oh really? And how are you going to do that?"

His grip tightened. "I'll tell everyone. About all your _bedfellows, _the drinking, the opium - your reputation will be destroyed. I promise you now; no one will even look at you again."

Of course, the people their age in their circle knew as much, even if it was subtly concealed. But if he made it his mission - which he would - he could let every bachelor, every parent in the city know every sordid detail.

Her eyes narrowed nastily up at him. "The lengths Chuck Bass will go to to protect his _friends_," she sneered. "I wonder, do you think Serena or Nate would ever do the same for you?"

But he ignored her; she was only being malicious because he had her.

"You just keep your mouth closed."

She snorted, twisting her arm out of his.

"Whatever you say." She gave him a look of disgust, eyes still glinting horribly, and tossed her hair. "Have a nice night alone, Chuckie."

...

Serena was gone, and Nate was acting strange, and Blair had had enough of not being able to control any of it. There _had _to be a reason that Serena hadn't told her where or why she was going; why she wasn't answering any of her letters - and it _couldn't_ be because she didn't want to speak to her.

It simply couldn't.

She'd figured it out - someone must have done something to her. She didn't believe Lily - there was no way Serena would have chosen to go to a young lady's institute in _Maine_.

Perhaps someone had impregnated her, or kidnapped her - or just tricked her into going. That had to be it.

So Blair had decided to hunt down all of Serena's connections in _that _circuit (the one malicious gossips only whispered about) to find out exactly what was going on.

And for that, she needed Chuck.

She'd dragged him out of his suite, though she'd known he didn't really have a choice, because if anything happened to his best friend's fiancee, Nate would -

Well, Blair wasn't entirely sure Nate would've cared at that moment.

But she told herself he would, because they were getting _married,_ and he loved her.

So she comandeered Chuck's driver, and instructed Chuck to take her to every place of debauchery he knew.

She'd expected him to laugh at her - expected the usual amused mockery (sometimes she swore her friendship with him existed purely for his entertainment, because he acted like she was the funniest thing in the world - even those things that frustrated Nate or exasperated Serena) - but he'd been oddly quiet. His reluctance had been clear, but he was taking her anyway. She couldn't quite read the expression in his eyes, but it wasn't amusement.

He might've laughed at her most of the time, but he also took her seriously when it was important and no one else realized. _They_ knew when it was important.

The truth was, Blair had an idea of where they should look. There was only one person who had that much of an influence on Serena; the same person who was generally behind any kind of trouble on the Upper East Side.

Satan herself.

She was saving that stop till last, though, because she was aware Chuck might refuse. He definitely wouldn't be happy. He may have hated Georgina even more than she did.

"Let's try Madame Cheng's."

She'd never been there personally, of course; but she'd heard it mentioned enough times.

And generally in association to one person. Chuck's eyes narrowed.

There was no point pretending now. She should've known.

"I'd rather not."

"Come on," she pushed - trying to get to him; "Don't tell me Chuck Bass is _afraid._"

"It's called self-preservation," he snapped back. "I have better things to do than hunt down lunatics."

She rolled her eyes. "It's called being a coward. It's not that far - we're practically on the street now."

"And we'll be driving straight on. Arthur," he addressed the driver; "Carry on."

"Ignore him," Blair insisted. "Stop the vehicle."

"Remember who you work for, Arthur," Chuck growled.

Blair could see the chance slipping away from her - just like her control had been doing, every day - and she forgot herself, suddenly desperate; "_Please, _Chuck."

He was silent for a moment. There was that look in his eyes, unreadable, and she though for a second that it might be scorn because she'd _begged_ - but then he ordered Arthur to stop.

She looked up at him in silent gratitude, but he didn't let her go.

"Blair," he said - and she really didn't understand the look in his eyes now. "You're not going to find what you're looking for."

"But you don't know that-"

"It's Georgina," Chuck cut her off. "Do you really think she'll help?"

She looked up at him, and something about her face tore at him; "We have to at least _try_."

He shook his head in frustration. "There's no point." He had to make her see; he had to keep her away from Georgina. At all costs. "Serena's not coming back."

He'd hoped it would be harsh enough to work, and, for a moment, she dropped her head.

"She is." It was barely more than a whisper; "She has to."

And before Chuck had a chance to stop her, Blair had forced the door open and jumped out.

He swore, scrambling out of the seat and after her - she was fast, but he had longer legs and managed to catch her halfway down the street. He took hold of her arms, forcing her back round to him. "Blair, you're not going in there."

She struggled to wriggle free; "I'll sneak back tonight if I have to," she cried; but she couldn't break his hold. "I mean it, Chuck." She glared up at him, brown eyes shining, chin set. "I'm going to find out what happened to Serena. With or without you."

He ground his teeth. He knew perfectly well that she would, too. And the idea of her coming here alone late at night -

"Fine," he snarled. He could get her in, get her out before Georgina said anything - and hope that his threat would be enough. If he was quick enough...

"But we're not staying for longer than two minutes. I'm timing."

And then he'd drag her out over one shoulder, if he had to.

The opium den inside was seedy and dim, and she was grateful for his hand on her waist as he guided her past several leery gazes; she didn't falter, of course, but it was a comfort nonetheless. Surrounded by this much debauchery, Chuck Bass was the only person she'd want at her side.

Georgina was in the back room, sprawled on velvet cushions.

Blair tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell and amount of exposed flesh on display.

She pressed forwards, head raised, and fixed Miss Sparks with her most intimidating look.

"Georgina," she said icily.

Her eyes were slightly unfocused, but Blair knew better than to think that might make her any less dangerous; there was that lethal blue glitter behind it that exuded sheer malice.

Uncontrolled malice.

"Little Waldorf," she drawled. "What a pleasant surprise." Her gaze flickered to Chuck, and she snorted; "And Mr. Bass. Not quite such a surprise. Did you bring the virgin to protect you?"

Chuck's eyes narrowed, but he ignored her; he was tensed, ready to get Blair the out of there. His gaze at Georgina was pure warning.

"Actually," Blair interjected, "We want answers. What have you done to Serena?"

She'd already decided on the direct approach.

Chuck's skin prickled at the look in Georgina's eyes at that; the twisted curve of a sick smile starting to form.

He tried to burn her with the intensity of his stare alone. He would kill her -

"Serena?" she murmured. She chuckled, a horrible sound. She could read Blair almost as easily as Chuck could in that moment. "What's the matter, little Waldorf - has your best friend abandoned you?"

That was it; they were going.

"Come on," he cut in. "I told you this was a waste of time. Let's go."

He reached for her arm - but Georgina moved forwards and caught her first.

Blair was thrown off guard and almost stumbled, but Georgina dragged her down to whisper in her ear; "You're not really surprised, are you? How could Serena be expected to stay with someone as dull as you?"

Blair jerked away, stiffening. Still, she didn't back down. "What have you done to her, Georgina?"

Georgina stretched languidly. "Poor little Blair. You still don't understand, do you?"

"Goergina-" Chuck started in a growl, but she cut him off.

"Serena _left_ you. No one made her go. You need to stop deluding yourself." Her smile was content. "I suppose you were never as close as you thought."

Blair's jaw tightened. She drew herself upright. "You're right, Chuck," she said coldly. "This was a waste of time. We're leaving."

Chuck tried very hard not to breathe out in relief; he gladly took her arm, leading her away.

They made it to the door before a voice stopped them.

"Oh, Chuckie? On an unrelated note - was I meant to tell the virgin how we caught her beloved fucking her best friend at the Shepherd wedding? I can't remember."

Chuck froze.

Blair had suddenly come to a complete stop.

"What?" Her voice was very quiet.

He never should have let her come, should've taken her home -

His arms closed around hers as he forced her out; she was numb, uncomprehending - and all he cared about was getting her as far away from there as possible.

Idiot.

He was an _idiot._

He cursed his own stupidity, and cursed Blair's determination, and cursed that _bitch - _

He'd been intending on getting her back to Arthur, and home - but she pulled away, turning on him.

"They wouldn't." Her voice was high; almost choked. "I - they were both drunk. So perhaps they - kissed; they weren't in any fit state. It didn't mean anything. They didn't-" Her voice caught, terribly. "They wouldn't," she whispered again.

Chuck knew what he should have been doing. He should've been saving his best friend and telling her no, they wouldn't. They didn't. Nate wouldn't.

But his voice didn't work.

All he could do was look at her.

Wide brown eyes met his, and then she crumpled.

"I knew it," she sobbed; "I always _knew_ there was something."

He reached for her without thinking - he had to get her off the street, get her home -

"_Don't touch me."_

She looked up at him, eyes wild with tears. "You knew."

"Blair-"

"You knew, the whole time. You and her. What, were you laughing at me behind my back? Planning the perfect moment to tell me, watch me suffer?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he ground out; she couldn't honestly believe -

"You knew."

He tried to catch her arm, to make her see; "What exactly was I supposed to-"

"You and Georgina Sparks both _knew_, and you waited for _her _to tell me-"

He grabbed her wrists this time, cutting her off. "Nate's my best friend," he hissed. "And I would never do anything to hurt either of you, least of all with _Georgina Sparks_."

She tried to tear her eyes away from his gaze, tried to break free; but he wouldn't let her. Slowly, the fight left her eyes.

"I'm tired," she said at last, in a quiet, flat voice. "I want to go home."

He swallowed and nodded. "Let's go."

He was going to kill Georgina Sparks, if it was the last thing he did.

...

_Now_

Blair pulled her shawl closer around her as she gazed up at the tall building; the familiar elaborate knocker on the door. It hadn't changed. She'd used to come here so much; she remembered thinking, as a little girl, that it was just like Chuck's father - tall, cold and foreboding.

The maid opened the door, spilling light into the foyer. "Good evening, ma'ams." She stood aside to let them through. Well, there was no escape now.

She steeled herself, drawing a breath. She'd never wanted to do anything less. Going back in there for an evening with _him_ -

"Come on," her mother hissed, yanking subtly on her arm. "Don't just stand there, child."

Chuck was tempted to stay on the lounger, sulking, with his glass of scotch, but he got to his feet as the drawing room door was opened to admit the two ladies. He would be risking another look from his father if not.

Blair allowed her gaze to meet his, knowing it was inevitable.

Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, but she was pale underneath it; the angles of her face were more pronounced that they'd been at the funeral, and she looked, if possible, even smaller in the grand doorway of the room between the two parents.

And she was still Blair, and she was still too beautiful; her brown eyes met his, flickering over the blue tie and waistcoat that matched the shade of her own dress.

"Mr. Bass."

"Mrs. Archibald."

She knew it was her name - had been for several months - but for some reason, coming from him it still felt like some kind of insult; a pointed dig - though at what, she couldn't have explained.

"Come now, don't tell me the two of you aren't on first name basis," Bart intervened dryly. "I've never known you to stand on this much ceremony, Charles." This was accompanied with a look between slightly narrowed eyes at his son.

"I couldn't agree more," Eleanor chimed in. She was giving her daughter the same look. "There's no need for this formality, Blair. Charles is an old friend."

Blair pressed her lips together, and Chuck swallowed a grimace.

"Blair," he stated. "Would you like a drink?"

"I'd love one, _Charles_."

He tried hard not to scowl - only his father called him Charles, which she knew perfectly well.

"Wonderful," Eleanor smiled. "Shall we sit down?"

Chuck glanced at the deliberately empty seat she'd left next to Blair, and at the look Blair was sending him - which could not have spelled _don't you dare _any more clearly.

"We appear to have run out of ice," he said smoothly. "I'll go and get some from the cellar."

That at least would give him a break -

"Blair, why don't you go and help?"

Blair stiffened. "Well, _mother-__"_

"Let's remember our manners, dear." There was sufficient edge to Eleanor's pleasant tone to leave Blair with little choice.

Stifling a glower, she climbed to her feet and followed the Basstard out of the room.

...

Blair stood in the middle of the cellar, arms wrapped around herself. She stared pointedly away from Chuck, focused on the wine bottles ranging the wall.

"So. How have you been?" Chuck's voice was low as he busied himself with the ice.

"Great," she answered acidly. "I'm having the time of my life."

"Well, excuse me for trying to be polite."

She merely snorted, at that.

His gaze flickered over her. "Don't you think that dress is a little bright for a mourning widow?" he sneered.

Her cheeks flushed with colour, and he felt a fleeting twinge of regret that he tried to shove aside.

She threw him an icy glare instead. "Well, since I was dragged here against my will, you can hardly expect that I was given a choice in what to wear."

"No one's making you stay," he snapped back.

Her lip curled. "Just like no one's _making_ you act the charming host. Which you aren't, incidentally." She took in the ice with disdain; "Don't you have help for this kind of thing?"

"Look," he ground out. "Neither of us want to be here. So why don't we go back upstairs, get on with this _ordeal, _and get through dinner as quickly as possible so we can all move on with our lives?"

"That's fine with me."

They glared at each other, dark eyes burning in the dim light of the cellar.

"After you, milady," Chuck sneered at last, gesturing ahead of him.

She pushed past him. "Thank you, _Charles_." And she swept upstairs without bothering to look back.

...

An ordeal was putting it mildly.

Chuck and Blair sat on either side of the table, facing each other, flanked by their parents. Chuck had already downed near on a whole bottle of wine, and Blair hadn't touched a single bite of her food.

The talk had been business for nearly the entire meal - strange, really, that it had never occurred directly to Chuck or Blair how eerily similar their parents were. The same ruthless ambition.

But then, Bart and Eleanor had been moving in the same circles for even longer than Chuck and Blair had; before they were even born.

The only thing they could really be thankful for was that there was, at least, no hint of any romantic interest - because the horror of_ that _would have been unthinkable. Eleanor was not the typical socialite that Bart would bed, and she certainly had no interest in a second husband - let alone one she couldn't control. They were both far too cold for that.

Thank God.

"So, what are your plans for the winter, Charles?" Eleanor enquired, taking a sip of her sherry.

"Actually, father and I are going to London." Chuck couldn't help it; he sat, unconsciously, ever so slightly straighter in his seat as he glanced at his father; and he couldn't stop the nudge of half proud, half nervous anticipation. This was the first time his father had ever included him on any of his trips; and Bart was actually _trusting_ him to handle one of the accounts. "We're setting up a venture there in the hospitality industry."

"I remember reading about it in the Times," Eleanor commented, nodding. She'd been keeping a close eye on all Bass business ventures. "From the sounds of it, it's really going places."

"Hopefully places far, far away," Blair said sweetly.

Eleanor gave her a furious look, and Chuck narrowed his eyes, sniping back, "Well, one can only hope."

Bart, however, chuckled. It was a surprising sound.

"Your daughter has quite the tongue in her head."

Chuck stared at him in disbelief. Of course, Bart _would _find it amusing coming from Blair Waldorf, of all people. Probably because he knew how much Chuck hated her. (And yes, he definitely hated her). Chuck would have earned another frown if_ he'd _said anything like that.

"Regrettably," Eleanor answered, lips thin. "So how long will you be in London?"

"At the moment, two months. But we're hoping to avoid unnecessary travel time - we'll be traveling on the RMS Olympic."

Blair had heard of the _Olympic_ - supposedly one of the fastest, and largest steamships to cross the Atlantic. Following the unfortunate sinking of the Titanic, that was. For a while, there had been a great distrust in any kind of passenger liner - especially the larger, newer ones - and people were still shocked by the fate of the Titanic's passengers.

Clearly Bart did not buy into such superstition.

"What about yourself?"

Eleanor sighed. "Well, Blair had wanted to visit her father in Paris. Unfortunately, we seem to have left booking a little too late - most of the tickets were snatched up months in advance."

Blair stared at her mother in amazement.

She'd _begged _Eleanor to let her go to Paris; she'd been desperate for any chance to get away from all of it and spend some time with her father. The idea of a winter alone in New York had been almost too much to take. She hadn't seen Harold since he'd left for 'business' in France two years ago, and all her bitter tears had done nothing to bring him back.

But Eleanor did not speak about it. Harold may as well have never existed.

Blair had heard the rumours, of course - but it was her _papa_.

Her mother had informed her only the other day that she no inclination to travel half way across the world to a second rate country, and the idea of Blair traveling there unchaperoned was out of the question.

And that was _enough_, thank you very much.

So where on earth was all of this coming from?

Bart's expression was almost sympathetic. It didn't quite match the calculation in his eyes, however.

"That's a real pity."

"Blair won't even be able to spend Christmas with her father," Eleanor sighed.

At that, Chuck and Blair exchanged a look. Blair hadn't spent Christmas with her father in two years. It had never bothered Eleanor in the slightest.

"Still, I suppose these things can't be helped."

"Actually, I may have a solution. Two of my business associates have recently informed me they won't be able to make the trip to London." It was Chuck's turn to stare at his father; this was the first he'd heard of it. "I don't wish to sound forward, Mrs Waldorf-"

"Please, call me Eleanor."

"-Eleanor, but is there any chance you and Blair would like to use their tickets instead? They'd only be going to waste anyway. That way you could cross the Atlantic on the Olympic, and then there would only be the matter of the English Channel to get you to France...I hope I'm not being too bold? It just seems such a waste of an opportunity."

Chuck's jaw actually dropped; Blair had frozen in her seat.

Eleanor and Bart both ignored them.

"Well, what a marvelous idea! That really is too kind of you..."

Chuck's eyes met Blair's. Their expressions were both ones of pure horror.

A truly _marvelous _idea.

...

**A/N Thank you very much for all of your lovely reviews! **

**This may well be the longest chapter I've ever written. I hope it's not too long, anyway...please let me know if it is. But at the moment, my plan is to have (roughly) half and half for each chapter - a flashback explaining the back story, and then a return to the present day. **

**If they get much longer, though, I may split the two!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Three years ago_

She was standing alone by the moonlit waves, barefoot, still in her white dress from dinner. Her dark curls spilled loose over her shoulders, gloves removed and shawl slipping down pale arms. She couldn't have looked more beautiful if she'd orchestrated it herself, Chuck mused wryly. That would be just like Blair; tragedy was so much better when it was poetic.

She glanced up as she sensed his presence. Her eyes were dry, but empty in the dark. "This is the ladies beach, Chuck," she pointed out.

"I saw you sneaking out from dinner," he answered, ignoring her.

"Funny, you must have been the only person who did." Her voice was too flat to even be really bitter.

He attempted a smirk. "Planning a midnight dip?" She rolled her eyes a little, a sign of the Blair he knew, and he moved closer, nudging her slightly. "Because I'd be happy to join you."

"In your dreams." He grinned, opening his mouth to reply, but she cut him off, realizing she'd walked into that one; "You're repulsive."

This earned her a chuckle.

She sighed. "What's Nate doing?"

"He went to bed."

She was silent.

They hadn't spoken about it; she had made him swear. Once he'd taken care of Georgina - a quiet word with her parents, and she'd been sent straight to relatives in some godforsaken Southern town - Blair had informed him that since no one knew about it, it hadn't happened.

(Which didn't quite allow for Nate's continued distance, or the sudden doubling in Blair's attempts to get his attention, play the perfect fiancee, and trips to the ladies room after each meal).

He idly raised the bottle of scotch he'd been carrying, tilting it in the moonlight. "So, looks like it's just you and me." He gave her a wicked grin. "Care for a drink?"

She wrinkled her nose. "No thank you. I don't even know why you drink that; you only have to smell it to know it tastes foul."

"But you've never actually tried it," he corrected with a smirk. "So you _don't_ know." He raised the bottle to his lips, taking a casual sip with a sly glance in her direction. "Delicious," he promised.

Her nose turned up further. "You couldn't even have brought a glass?"

He tilted the bottle in front of her face. "Come on, Blair. I know you're tempted."

"I am not."

"Coward."

She glared at him, and he was sure she'd ignore it - but then, suddenly, she snatched the bottle from him.

Eyes still locked on him, she raised the bottle and took a large gulp. She grimaced, struggling to swallow, eyes widening at the firey taste - but she refused to splutter, and got it down her throat.

Chuck laughed in delight.

"That," she said vehemently, "Was disgusting." She pushed the bottle back into his hands.

He grinned. "It's an acquired taste. Perhaps a few more sips along the way..."

She rolled her eyes, dropping down onto one of the cushioned sun chairs. He slid onto the one next to her, taking another drink of his scotch. She'd resigned herself to his company, anyway; she had no desire to go back inside and face an empty bed, or more of her mother's criticism.

"So why aren't you with the latest floozy?" she enquired. Hardly the most proper of conversations, but it _was_ Chuck. And at this stage, she was a little beyond caring.

He made a face. "The Hamptons has proved surprisingly scarce this year. It must be a bad season."

"Clearly," she answered drily.

He smirked, holding out the bottle.

She glanced at it as though about to refuse; then - seeing as this night couldn't get much worse - she accepted it. He made no comment as she swallowed again, with the same grimace - though his eyes were glittering with amusement.

"Be quiet."

"I didn't say a word."

She just gave him a look.

...

It was possible he shouldn't have let her drink quite so much from the bottle. Especially given she rarely drank anyway, and certainly not anything as strong as scotch. She hadn't really left him with much option, though - it seemed she actually _had _acquired a taste for the stuff. And she really was quite demanding.

Besides, he'd decided she needed it. She deserved some fun. And he hadn't realized quite how hilarious she was when inebriated - although it didn't come as much of a surprise.

"I know how to have _fun_," she was insisting now. "Everyone thinks Blair Waldorf is so prim and_ proper_ - but I can be wild! I can be - spontaneous! I - stop smirking, Charles Bass!" She actually went to slap him; it stung, naturally, and he was grinning even through his wince of pain. "Blair Waldorf," she snapped, "Knows how to let loose."

"Oh, really?" He glanced sideways at her, thoroughly enjoying himself. "Well, why don't you prove it, Miss Waldorf?"

He was pushing, of course - and it worked. He saw the flash of defiance in her eyes, even through the effect of the alcohol.

"I will."

And before he could stop her, she'd jumped to her feet - slightly unsteady, but only for a fraction of a second. She strode forwards, determined, shawl discarded, towards the edge of the sea.

She glanced over her shoulder, and met his gaze full on, challenging (and so adorable) - and then, to his amazement, he saw her hand move to the zipper of her dress and pull it down.

She wouldn't -

She was already tugging the dress off her head, though, pulling it off her.

He sat up properly. His mouth was suddenly dry.

She stood for a moment - and he was unable to tear his eyes away, even if he'd wanted to - framed by the moonlight, water reflected on bare skin, in just a thin lace chemise.

Then she turned her back on him and plunged into the waves.

He got to his feet, moving towards the gleaming body of water.

She emerged, grinning, turning back to him to toss the water droplets from her curls.

He held the bottle out, conceding his defeat. "I take it back," he laughed, eyes still never leaving hers. They laughed triumphantly back at him from the water, brown and shining through the dark. "You certainly know how to let loose."

She grinned contentedly. "I'm certainly _fun_," she declared.

He then remembered that she was certainly not sober, and the sea was most likely freezing. And - as if he could forget - she was wearing just her slip. Regardless of what state she was in now, he'd definitely be blamed if she caught a cold.

He moved closer, water lapping over his own bare feet, and held out his hand.

"Come on. We'd best get you out before someone sees and accuses me of taking advantage of an innocent girl."

"I highly doubt they'd be surprised."

He placed a hand to his chest. "You wound me."

She giggled. But she'd already decided she didn't want to get out. "You can go inside if you wish. I'm not going back there." She rolled, luxuriously, onto her back; "I'm enjoying the water."

He was aware that he was enjoying watching her a bit too much, though. And he was starting to wonder if she was deliberately teasing him, watching him between slanted eyes, hair streaming around her in a dark halo, curves rising from the water - so small and so perfectly formed, and -

Perhaps it was time he put his foot down.

"Blair. Don't make me come in there and get you."

She just giggled again. "I'd like to see you try."

He reached for her, and she twisted away with surprising speed, splashing a large wave of salty water that drenched him.

He spluttered, pushing it out of his eyes to the delighted peal of her wicked laughter.

"That's it," he growled. He lunged for her - he was already soaked, anyway.

She yelled in alarm, laugh still bouncing across the waves, and attempted to get away. Despite the current, he managed to catch her waist, dragging her to him. She screamed, trying to stop laughing long enough to fight back, her fists beating rather uselessly at him; bare legs squirming under his, under the water as he held her fast. He pinned her back against him, hand covering her mouth to silence her screams - the last thing he wanted was one of the night patrol coming to investigate.

She finally stilled as she realized she wasn't going to win, and he had her trapped; and he realized he'd pulled her out of her depth without noticing.

But as he held her, he suddenly realized something else.

He pushed her away, rather abruptly (not like him to be embarrassed, but this was _Blair_); though he kept hold of her wrists and turned her to face him.

"Blair," he warned; "You'd better behave if I let you go."

She smiled angelically. "I promise."

"I'll have to punish you if not."

It was meant to be an attempt at their usual banter - a lewd comment - but he was aware that something was different.

She was close enough that he could see each droplet of water clinging to her eyelashes; he could smell the perfume of her hair through the sea's tang and feel her warm breath on him; could feel the heat of her slender wrists in his grip, and as his gaze locked with hers, he was dimly aware that he wasn't really _thinking_ anymore.

She was silent, eyes wide - and then, suddenly, the space between them wasn't there anymore. And she was too close and still too far away; and her lips brushed his. She tasted of the sea and of Blair, bitter and sweet and so, so delicious -

And tomorrow, there was going to be hell to pay.

But for now, there was just them - Chuck and Blair, hidden in the dark - and the sea.

...

_Now_

Chuck came to a stop as he caught an all too familiar figure entering the same building he'd just left.

What the hell was she doing here - alone?

He noticed that she was carefully dressed in black, hat covering her hair and most of her face. Not that it concealed her from him for a second. Her gaze swept the street before she entered - clearly covering her back - and she froze as she suddenly recognized him.

He approached, and he could've sworn she was _willing _him not to see her. But then, Blair always had seemed to think that if she willed something enough, she could make it come true.

She even debated just running into the building before he could stop her - but that would only have drawn attention to herself. She had no choice but to turn and face him, glower in place.

"Bass."

"Well, what have we here?"

"None of your concern," she snapped. Then her eyes narrowed. "And what are _you_ doing here?"

His own eyes narrowed. "If you won't tell, then neither will I."

They glared at each other.

Finally, she sighed in irritation, giving in. "I was just enquiring after some tickets."

"Some tickets to England aboard a certain _Olympic?" _he asked sourly, and pulled a face. "Well, it's no use. I've already tried - there really are no other spaces. And they won't accept any bribes to not sell them to certain people, either."

She scowled. Hopes dashed. "Oh, brilliant."

She'd tried everything - once the tears and threats had failed to work, she'd started on the lies; chronic seasickness, an allergy to London air, a Christmas party or an interview or another event she simply couldn't miss - even the promise of a suitor who'd 'caught her eye'. (Because she'd figured out Eleanor's plan by now).

Nothing.

Chuck had even volunteered to travel over there now, on a cargo ship, to get a 'head start'.

But neither Bart or Eleanor would be moved. Which left only one option - scheming.

"What about the storm that's supposed to hit next week?"

"I've already mentioned it," Chuck replied gloomily. "The idiot of a clerk said he was assured it would miss New York completely."

"The iceberg-"

"They've navigated a new course."

She let out a slight groan of frustration. "I can't _believe_ this."

Chuck shot a glance at her. Well, since they were both here already, and nothing else was working - "We're not going to stop this while Eleanor and Bart are still set on it."

"We're never going to outmanouver them," Blair accepted with a sigh.

"We need to come up with a plan-"

"_We_," Blair interjected sharply, eyes suddenly flashing, "Need to do nothing. All you've done is make everything even worse than it already is. I don't need your help."

Chuck glared at her in outrage. "You think I _wanted_ any of this? The last thing I wanted was any more to do with you, Blair."

"Well, I think you've already made_ that_ perfectly clear, haven't you?" she snapped back - losing it for a moment. She cursed herself instantly; she wasn't going to bring_ that_ up again. Ever. She knew he hadn't missed it, either.

The expression in his eyes was unreadable for a moment; black. Then he exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. She tried not to notice how familiar the action was.

"Look. Neither of us want this, and the best chance we have of stopping it is to work together. We can't stop our parents by ourselves. We never could."

She stared up at him, and, eventually, gave in. "Fine," she muttered. "Then what do you suggest?"

"We need to put them off the whole idea to begin with," he said slowly.

"Stop them from wanting the match in the first place." She caught on immediately, a light starting to form in her eyes.

"I need to convince Bart that marriage is the last thing he wants. That all it would do is disrupt business."

"And all Eleanor cares about is her reputation. So if we can prove that you're an unsuitable match..."

"And that all you want to do is sink your claws into the Bass fortune-"

"And that you're a disgusting excuse for a human that would only bring shame on our family-"

"I get the point," he snapped.

She fell silent, smirking slightly.

"So...do we have an agreement?"

Blair arched an eyebrow. "We have an agreement."

He held out his hand; there was a pause, and then she slid hers into it, and they shook.

She withdrew first. "Now." Her tone was businesslike. "You can carry on with your usual debauchery, the more scandalous the better - and this time, try to get it into every paper and every gossip column you can."

"Meanwhile, you can start reading up on business and everything related to Bart Bass and his money. And sending round enquiries to all of our attorneys and accountants - they report directly back to him."

"Make sure you're inebriated the next time you meet Eleanor. Preferably with a girl on either side."

"And make sure you're as made up as you can be when you see Bart. Wear pearls, and don't stop talking about wedded bliss and embroidery lessons. And my sensitive side."

Blair managed to stop herself from making the obvious statement - _what sensitive side_? - which Chuck appreciated, for once.

"So," she calculated; "The nearest opportunity we'll get is Bart's foundation brunch."

Chuck nodded. "It starts at eleven. But if you could get there half an hour early and interfere with all the preparations..."

"Half past ten it is, then." She hesitated for the briefest second; their gazes lingered on each other. This was the closest they'd come to being civil in months. Possibly even their longest conversation - and they were both aware. She finally tore her eyes away. "Good day, Chuck."

And then she was gone.

But neither of them could stop the faint smirk as they went on their separate ways - this time, they weren't going to let their parents defeat them.

...

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't possibly have_ lilies. _And why on earth have you put the eclairs next to the gateau?" Blair sighed in exasperation, brushing past an increasingly irritated serving girl. "The colour scheme in this room is all wrong."

It hadn't been too hard to convince Eleanor that they should arrive earlier to help with proceedings. The least they could do, since Bart was giving them those tickets - and didn't these things require a women's touch? The Bass men had been deprived, really.

She hadn't seen Bart's reaction to the suggestion. He was, at present, engaged in conversation with Eleanor.

That could be changed.

"Mr Bass," she called brightly, approaching them. "You must let mother set you up with one of our decorators. This room would be _enchanting _in peach."

Bart glanced at the deliberately masculine features of the room; the oak panelling and dark marble columns. He didn't comment, however. Eleanor shot her daughter look - what nonsense was she spouting now?

Blair sweetly ignored her. "And I was just telling one of your staff, hydragenas would be far better in those vases."

The serving girl she'd just been berating looked at Bart helplessly.

"Blair," her mother said testily; "I'm sure Bart knows what he's doing. Why don't you go and powder you nose, dear?"

Just then, one of the chefs appeared from the kitchen, red-faced. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bass, but I cannot cope with this!"

Bart raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I cannot change the orders to strawberries at the last moment! It's not even the season for them!"

This earned a frown; "I wasn't aware I'd asked you to."

"Oh." Blair smiled guiltily; "Actually, that was me. I just thought that strawberries would make a nice change." She fluttered her eyelashes as the man. "No?"

But Bart's expression was unruffled and unreadable. "The fruits you have at the moment are fine," he addressed the chef instead, calmly. "You can go back to your work."

Damn it, he was good at hiding his feelings. Not that she didn't already know that from Chuck - where else had he got it from?

Still, she wasn't about to give up. The day was early yet. "I'll just go and check the seating plans, shall I? Just to see if there are any suggestions I can make."

And, ignoring the daggers her mother was sending her, she flounced off.

...

"Where's Charles?" Bart frowned - the first frown she'd seen all morning, in fact. It seemed she could do nothing to get through his blank exterior; the most she'd earned was a raised eyebrow.

"Well," Blair gave a girlish laugh; "It's not like these events are important for him, are they? Not when there are other people to step in and help with the decisions - I always think a woman's better for that role. Wouldn't you agree? A lady who knows where to sit people, who to talk to - not you men and your silly ideas!" Maybe she was pushing it a bit far. But she'd been trying _all morning_. "Perhaps Charles is trying on the cravat I suggested for him this morning. I wasn't going to mention anything, but those suits you both wear are so somber. Don't you think a lighter colour would better show your softer side?"

"Blair," her mother said between gritted teeth. "I think we've all had enough. Why don't you go and get a drink, hmm?"

"A drink. Now that is an excellent idea."

Right on cue, Chuck appeared; hair disheveled, jacket askew, and - as promised - a girl on either arm.

"I could murder another scotch."

Blair knew for a fact that the slur was put on - Chuck was usually a master at disguising any state he got himself into.

Bart's frown lines were now so deep, they might have been chiseled from stone. "Charles," he said coldly. "Where have you been? You're half an hour late."

"Oh." Chuck shrugged. "I was just spending a little quality time with my friend Madame Cheng." He tipped Eleanor a wink. "The service there is _outstanding."_

Eleanor, however, appeared unaffected. If anything, she welcomed the distraction from her hateful daughter - truly, after everything she'd done for that girl!

Bart, meanwhile, was too busy glaring at his son to even notice the looks of dismayed confusion that Blair's newly drawn up seating plan was creating. He didn't even look up when she moved the centre piece of his display - that was Eleanor, seizing her arm and marching her into a corner without even a backwards glance at Chuck, who had a hand up both girls' skirts, and cutting off his description of what, exactly, Madame Cheng's offered mid flow.

...

"Was Eleanor just_ laughing_ at one of your stories?" Blair hissed, dragging him further behind the concealed pillar. "For heaven's sake, Chuck - all you have to do is be your usual disgusting self, and you're not even getting that right!"

"I'm sorry," Chuck snarled back, "But I thought you'd been preparing the _wife_ role since before you could talk. You've never had any problem scaring people witless about marriage before - why is it such an issue now? You realize Bart just told me I could_ use_ your guidance?"

"You're not trying hard enough!"

"Oh, believe me - I'm trying as hard as I possibly can!"

There was a disgruntled tut from behind them; they both glanced up to see a lady on her way to the bathroom looking at them, and especially Blair, with high disapproval.

"Judge away," Chuck sneered. "Shame turns me on."

The lady spluttered and hurried away, scandalized.

Blair tried to be outraged, too - but she couldn't help thinking that the nosy bitch had deserved it.

Still, she remembered to lower her voice this time. "That's the kind of thing you need to be telling my mother. Now get back out there and appall her!"

"And that's just the kind of overbearing bossiness you should be showing my father," Chuck growled back.

She scowled at him. "Just get on with it."

...

Eleanor was fuming. Her daughter was an _idiot. _She had almost ruined the whole brunch. In the end, she'd dragged her out and home with the promise that she would _deal with her_ there.

And Blair was standing in front of her now, glaring a hole in the wall opposite.

"I have no idea why _you're_ being such a little madame, young lady. I should be the one sulking! You made an absolute show of yourself today. What were you even thinking?"

"Well, that's the problem, isn't it?" Bart said icily from behind his desk. "You _weren't_ thinking." He'd called Chuck into his study as soon as the rest of the guests had gone.

His son was glaring determinedly at his shoes, and Bart sighed. "I don't know why I'm even surprised."

"I've seen enough of your ridiculous antics before. But this is just too far, Blair. You're not a child."

"It's high time you grew up and learned some responsibility, Charles."

"After everything I've taught you - you can't even be trusted at a simple event like a brunch."

Blair could hardly believe her ears. "I can," she insisted; didn't she spend the whole time trying to prove that she _was _enough, that she -

"I should have known you'd let me down again."

At that, Chuck's head snapped up. "I _won't_-"

"Well. I hardly think your actions today were proof of that." Eleanor's tone softened, which was a clear sign that she was about to say something even harsher; "There's only so much sympathy anyone can have for a widow. I think it's high time you moved on."

"With _Chuck Bass_?"

"You certainly let Blair down with the way you were acting."

"I've told you already, I don't want anything to do with Blair Waldorf. She's _Nate's_ wife - she's got nothing to do with me!"

"You'd be lucky if Charles Bass even considered you, after the spectacle you put on today."

"On the contrary, Charles. If you've proved anything today, it's that you _need_ the influence of a wife."

"You clearly need this trip to France. Perhaps a break from Manhattan will put some things into perspective for you." Eleanor was icy, pointed.

Blair bit her lip, forcing down bitter hatred. She knew she didn't have a choice.

"I'm sorry, but I need proof that I can actually rely on you if I let you anywhere near this venture in London."

Chuck's eyes widened in horror; Bart couldn't do that to him - he couldn't take away this chance. But the threat behind his words was clear.

"I expect you to be on your best behavior from now on - is that clear?"

"Yes, father."

"And there is to be no more of this foolishness - do you understand?"

"Yes, mother."

With their children dismissed, Eleanor and Bart fell to reflection in their individual rooms.

The more Eleanor thought about it, the more set she was on securing Chuck Bass for her daughter. She needed the girl off her hands - and, from the looks of things, Chuck would at least be able to control her. He wouldn't stand for any of her foolishness, unlike Nathaniel. (Bless him). At the very least - judging from the women surrounding him - Blair wouldn't suffer the same fate her mother had. And perhaps having such a rake for a husband would force the silly girl to grow up.

And from what Bart had seen today, he couldn't have found a better partner for his son. She would certainly have no qualms in standing up to him; she was forceful enough, judging from how close that serving girl had been to tears, to instill some discipline. And she clearly had a keen interest for business and planning. She wouldn't stand for any nonsense - and perhaps having such a controlling wife would make his wayward son curb his ways.

This match would be happening. One way or another.

...

**A/N I know, this chapter didn't move that much forwards in the 'present day' - but the voyage is unavoidable now :) More flashbacks to follow too, but not too many...**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! **


	4. Chapter 4

_Two years ago_

"By the looks of things, you're over a month along."

The words spilled over her in an empty rush; she couldn't even see the doctor's face any more, peeling wallpaper and shabby furniture blurring into one as she rose to her feet.

This couldn't be happening.

She couldn't be with child. She was Blair Waldorf.

It was what she'd told herself over and over; every day that no menstruation came. She'd never been so desperate for that time of the month.

"Miss-"

She pushed past him, out of his grasp; out into the corridor and as far away from the disgusting building as her feet could carry her.

Over.

It was all over.

She couldn't _breathe, _she realized, as she struggled with the front door and stumbled down the steps. She didn't even know where she was going - what the hell she was going to do -

And a pair of arms suddenly caught her, forcing her to stop; she found herself staring up into dark eyes, held securely - the last face and the only face she wanted to see.

"Blair."

She whimpered, still struggling to breathe; gasping because he couldn't _be_ here -

And then he was wrapping her in his arms, leading her out of the glare of the street and into a secluded alley; gripping her till her breathing finally calmed, eyes never leaving hers, till she finally managed to return his gaze.

She'd been avoiding him for two weeks - brushing off his advances with snaps of _I'm not in the mood_; shutting the door in his face and wriggling out of his grasp when he tried to hold her, never meeting his eyes.

She'd been twice as spiteful - not that it had worked for a second. He knew her tactics. He knew something was wrong.

And, since she wouldn't tell him what that was, he'd taken to following her. Which was how he'd seen her leave her house at the crack of dawn this morning, before the maids were even awake, pay her driver to take her one of the furthest neighborhoods on the island, and enter the nondescript townhouse on the corner of the road.

It had taken every inch of his willpower not to go in there after her - he'd promised himself he would wait, at least twenty minutes, and do his enquires in the meantime.

The house belonged to a doctor.

"What's going on?" he said, very quietly, studying her face - though he already knew, really. He just needed it confirmed.

She'd collected herself a little more now; enough to insist, weakly, "Nothing." Then, with a little more vehemence; "Why are you _following_ me?"

He ignored that. "Are you pregnant?"

Just hearing him say the word was enough.

There it was.

She was pregnant, and there was no escaping.

Her eyes lifted to his, filled with tears. "Yes."

She tried to read the emotion on his face - fear? He took a half step back, and she froze immediately. She should have known. She yanked her arm free from his hold, stumbling away from him; "Well, I can see you're going to be a _wonderful_ support in all of this-" stumbling over her words, spitting as she backed away -

And he caught her arm again, pulling her to him. "Just slow down."

"I think it's a bit late for that, don't you?" she snapped, but there a thin verge of hysteria underneath it; her eyes were wild.

He didn't know _what _to think; didn't know which emotion was running more rampage - guilt or fear. All he realized was that she needed neither. He kept hold of her; just as firmly, but more gentle now. "There's no question of doubt?" His voice was low - an attempt at rationality.

"None." She suddenly crumpled in his hands. "What am I going to do?" she whispered.

What was he supposed to do - pat her back and tell her it would all be fine? Lies wouldn't help either of them. So, silently, he pulled her closer against him, pinning her against his chest as he buried his mouth in her hair. He felt her eyelashes flutter closed against his chest, and, for a moment, she simply pressed her face into his coat and he held her.

He was torn between two desires; the desire to _run_ - to get away, as fast as he could, because that was what Chuck Bass did - and the _need_ to hold her, crush her to him and never let her go.

It was the conflict between the two that decided it for him.

"We'll run away."

She paused in his arms, pulling away to stare at him in disbelief. "What?"

"We can get out of here. Both of us." His chin was set.

"No, we can't," she snapped. "Leave New York? What do you think this is, some kind of romance novel? Have you taken leave of your senses?"

She pushed aside the flutter that had suddenly filled her - romance novels had alway been one of her weaknesses. But no one in any romance novel was ever this terrified. And the reality was all too horrifying. She couldn't bury her head in the perfect version of her life any more.

Except he wasn't being romantic. Not really. "It's the only solution," he pressed, voice low and urgent. "Think about it. We have the money - all we have to do is move to a city far enough away." A young couple - recently moved from Europe, perhaps, families dead - "What's the alternative? We're both going to hell if we stay here either way."

There was no way of convincing anyone the baby was Nate's, after all - not with the engagement date set a year away.

Blair shook her head, weakly. Chuck always ran away when things got difficult - she knew that. But he always, always came back. There was no coming back if they left now.

"There are options," she struggled.

"Name them." His gaze was fixing hers, and she suddenly was too overwhelmed and too afraid.

"There are places." She lifted her chin, trying to steady her voice; "Places you can get this taken care of."

She didn't mean it, though; she just wanted something - anything -

His eyes flashed in disbelief, darkened; he grabbed her arm and he almost wanted to shake her. "There are no places that you'll be going to," he hissed. "Do you want to get yourself killed? Or crippled?"

He'd heard the horror stories - back alleys and dirty metal implements, lethal cocktails of drugs -

He didn't have to convince her, though. She knew she'd never have been able to forgive herself _that_.

"I know," she said softly, at last.

"Blair. This is the only way."

...

_Now_

"Charles. This came for you today."

Chuck glanced up in surprise from the book he'd been reading, almost doing a double take at the unfamiliar sight of Bart in his bedroom. His father never visited him. If he really had to talk to him, Chuck was summoned into his office.

Unconsciously, he sat up straighter, pulling at his shirt.

"I - thank you, father." He cleared his throat, getting to his feet to reach for the offered letter.

"It looks like a court summons."

Chuck paused, staring at the official envelope. No. He'd _been_ on his best behavior - they couldn't do this to him now, not when he was so close to the London trip - "Father, I swear to you. I haven't done anything."

"Just open it."

Chuck's gaze flickered up - to his surprise, though, Bart didn't appear annoyed. So he did as he was told, scanning the first few lines - and then all thoughts of a possible arraignment left his head. Because this was far, far worse.

"It's a court summons," he said hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry. "To the last will and testament of Nathaniel Archibald."

Of all things, that was the last he'd ever have expected. He looked up at Bart, trying to understand; "But I don't - "

Why on earth had they summoned_ him_?

"Come," his father sighed. "You can't be that surprised. I thought you were supposed to be his best friend?"

Best friend.

Chuck stared at the letter. "I don't want anything."

"Well, that's really neither here nor there. You've been summoned, Charles - you don't have a choice." His father's tone was final, and Chuck hated it.

"He should be leaving everything to his wife," he snapped.

Bart just fixed him with a cold stare, unmoved. "Well, he obviously wanted to leave something to you. And I think Blair could use your support."

Chuck stared back in disbelief. "Are you being serious?" He no longer cared how insolent he sounded, furious frustration suddenly rising; "You want me to use the reading of my best friend's will to cosy up to his _wife_?"

None of which made any impression on Bart. "Don't be so overdramatic." He sighed. "I thought I'd made this clear - you need to prove to me that you can be relied on. Helping that young lady - who has been your friend as long as Nathaniel, lest you forget - is the least you can do. You don't think this will be hard for her?"

Bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit. "I don't see how emotionally _manipulating_ her is going to help her," Chuck ground out.

Bart seemed to forget that Chuck had known him his whole life - he'd seen all of his tactics, studied and taken notes. He used them himself. Bart could care less about _helping_ - being vulnerable just opened them up for attack.

Could his father even _hear _himself?

Bart's eyes turned flinty, regarding his son with contempt. "You're going to be at that will-reading. And you're going to support Miss Waldorf. I don't expect any more discussion on it."

And with that, he left - leaving Chuck to spit to an empty room, "It's Mrs _Archibald_."

...

Blair sat upright in her chair, hands clutched in her lap. She didn't want to be here. Didn't want another reminder that her husband was dead; didn't want to have to sit in a room and hear Nate's final words from his doddering solicitor.

And to make things ten times worse - _he _was here.

Another dreaded reminder of the trip that was now only three days away. Another reminder that nothing in her life was in her control any more - she didn't have a husband; didn't have the security of Nate's arms - everything was decided by her mother, and Nate's family, and stupid bureaucrats like the one currently seated on the other side of the desk. She didn't even get to hold the piece of paper - all she could do was sit and wait.

And the truth was, she didn't _want_ anything from Nate.

Their shared house, to live alone in?

And there was that tiny voice in the back of her head, whispering that she didn't deserve _anything_.

She'd wanted Nate.

She'd wanted married life.

"Are we ready to proceed?"

Chuck tried not to let the old man's high, nasal voice get under his skin; but it grated. He felt Blair shift in the seat next to him and wondered if it did her, too.

Then he reminded himself to focus.

The lawyer, meanwhile, was frowning, peering over the top of his spectacles. "We appear to be missing a person."

"Who?"

"It says here that-"

Just then, the door was flung open, and a whirl of skirts and golden hair spilled into the office, an all too familiar voice gasping; "I'm sorry I'm late."

Blair had frozen in her seat, staring at the person in front of them. Even Chuck was stunned.

"Not to worry, you're here now." The man cleared his throat. "Won't you take a seat, Miss van der Woodsen?"

...

Blair was still rigid in her seat, eyes fixed firmly on the lawyer - anywhere but at her former best friend.

Chuck watched out of the corner of his eye as Serena continued to shift in her chair, nervously tugging at her hair, eyes sliding all over the place - but drifting continuously back to Blair.

"I give the following legacies." The lawyer lifted the paper, reading closely. "I give to my closest friend, Charles Bartholomew Bass, the property of Twelve Richmond Street, including all rights and deeds, and the sum of ten thousand dollars."

Chuck's breathing suddenly caught.

It couldn't be.

They'd been sixteen - before the Shepherd Wedding, before any of it - drinking at their favourite bar, cigars in hand. Age didn't matter with money like they had.

"Why do I want to think about my future?" Nate had sighed, soaking in the hazy fumes. "Why is there always so much _pressure _to work out what you want, you know? I don't know where I want to be in ten years. All I know is where I'm _supposed_ to be. I hate it."

Chuck had merely snorted, well used to his friend's half formed ideas of protest. "Thinking about your future is just being practical," he'd assured him lazily. "I, for one, know exactly where I want to be in ten years time." He'd grinned. "One million dollars richer."

Nate had chuckled; he always knew how to make him laugh.

"I'm serious," he'd sighed later. "Father was amending his will the other day - you know he's had it drawn up since he was _fifteen? _That means he's had his life planned for nearly twenty-five years." He'd repressed a shudder, just thinking about it, and Chuck had glanced at him in amusement.

"Well, of course he has. It would be foolish for anyone of our status not to have a _will_, Archibald."

Nate had stared. "Don't tell me you've drawn up yours?"

"I had the family solicitor draw up my first draft when I was twelve," Chuck shrugged. Bart had taught him well. "I don't want my fortune to end up in some charitable fund." That idea had made _him_ shudder.

Chuck could remember Nate's gobsmacked expression.

"That's so morbid."

"No, it's practical. You should do the same."

Which was how they'd got onto the conversation of what, exactly, Nate should write in his will - since he had next to no idea. He honestly hadn't given it a single thought - bizarre to Chuck, but then it did make sense for Nate.

Chuck had assured him, drily, that it wasn't too complicated - he had to leave everything to Blair.

"The one advantage of having a girl you know you're going to marry."

Nate had insisted that he wanted to leave something to him, though - ignoring Chuck's protests that he didn't want any of his money.

Chuck had money, after all.

What he didn't have was friends - or many, anyway - and that was all he'd ever needed from Nate.

Nate had finally seized on the idea of giving him the means to set up his own burlesque club. Chuck had been campaigning Bart for a while - he'd done all of the calculations, the detailed business plan; his father simply wasn't interested. _I'm not pouring my company's money into an excuse for you to drink and womanize, Charles._

And he'd done it, Chuck realized numbly now. There was no other explanation for the property or sum of money - it was a fund for the club. Which meant that - what, Nate hadn't changed his will since he was sixteen? He must have submitted that as his final draft.

It was so like Nate that Chuck felt a sudden lump in his throat.

"I give to Serena van der Woodsen the sum of forty thousand dollars."

Chuck was dragged back to attention at that, head snapping up. Blair had gone very still next to him; Serena let out a faint gasp.

_Forty thousand _dollars. It was an insane sum of money.

The solicitor didn't appear to register their reactions, however; he went on - "I give, devise, and bequeath all my real and personal estate of whatsoever nature and whatsoever situate to my future wife, Blair Cornelia Waldorf." He glanced up, pushing his spectacles further up his nose. "Those are the stipulations of the will. However, I also have further instructions." He had reached the final part of the document; "It is my last request," he read, "That in the case of my demise, Charles Bartholomew Bass be entrusted with the care of my wife, Blair Cornelia Waldorf."

Chuck closed his eyes.

They'd been several glasses of scotch along by that point, the haze of the cigars taking full effect; "But, Archibald, you do realize Blair will kill you if you have the audacity to make her a widow?"

Nate had pulled a face; Blair Waldorf, of all people, would have the ability to terrorize people even in death. "In that case, you'd better take care of her."

Chuck had actually laughed - "_Me_?"

"Who better?"

He'd stared at him in incredulity; "I think you should lay off the scotch, Nathaniel."

"I'm serious," Nate had insisted, blue eyes wide; "There's no one else I'd trust more. You're always there for me."

Chuck had tried to scoff, brush it off; "Don't get all sentimental on me now." But he hadn't quite been able to hide the quiet glow of pleasure. Chuck Bass, trusted. He had a best friend who _trusted_ him. It didn't even matter that no one else did.

Except - he reminded himself now, sitting next to the girl he'd once have given anything to steal from his best friend - he'd blown that all to hell.

...

"Blair - wait!"

Chuck and Blair had walked out of the solicitor's office without a single glance at each other, moving down the corridor with their eyes set firmly ahead; Serena's voice stopped them, now.

Blair turned slowly.

It had been three years.

She stared coldly at the blonde before her, noting with bitterness that she was as sickeningly beautiful as ever, even with her hair in disarray and what looked like a year old dress.

"I didn't know you were back in New York," she deigned icily, at last.

Chuck watched in silence.

"I...I came when I heard." Serena had never been the one to cower before Blair - it was almost ridiculous, given how she towered over her. "Blair, I'm so sorry."

Blair pressed her lips together. "I can tell. Since you didn't bother showing up to the funeral." Serena flinched, but Blair wasn't done - "Still, at least you came to get your money."

"I didn't - I had no idea Nate was going to leave me anything."

Blair just gave her a look. "How fortunate that you made it, then."

Serena's eyes widened with hurt; "Blair, I couldn't..." Her voice shook. "I couldn't go to the funeral. I wanted to, but it was too..."

"Hard?" Blair's eyes narrowed in contempt. "And it was so much easier for his _wife_, I suppose?"

Serena couldn't answer that. She bit her lip. "I only came here," she said quietly, begging, "Because I was told they couldn't proceed without me."

Of course, nothing could _ever_ proceed without Serena van der Woodsen.

"Well, thank you," Blair sneered.

"Blair-"

They were interrupted by a commotion; a loud wailing and impatient hushing, before a doorman rounded the corner, holding a crying child at arms length.

"I'm sorry, miss, but this really isn't in the requirements for my job!" He thrust the infant into Serena's arms with a significant glower, before storming off with dark mutters of, "..._Look _like a nursemaid..."

Blair and Chuck stared in absolute silence at the child.

A full head of golden curls, wide blue eyes; she couldn't have been much more than two years old.

It was the blue eyes that held them most, though. Blue eyes neither of them thought they'd ever see again.

Serena was focused on calming her down, stroking her back and kissing her curls, murmuring anxiously, "Hush, baby, mama's here now..."

Blair suddenly felt the room tilt, the blood rushing to her head; Chuck saw the colour drain from her face even in his own stunned state; he caught her arm, acting on instinct alone, as he continued to stare at mother and child.

"Serena," Blair whispered at last, collecting herself; she pulled out of Chuck's grasp, as he instantly dropped his hand.

Serena's eyes flickered up to them, guilt written in every line of her face; "I wanted to leave her at home," she mumbled, desperately, "But I couldn't afford the nurse's pay, and..."

They just stared.

"I have to go." Serena pulled the girl closer, wrapping her in her shawl, turning hastily away; "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have come."

And she was gone before either of them could stop her.

Chuck's eyes met Blair's, slowly.

"Did you..."

But she already knew the answer, and he knew she did.

"No." He swallowed. "I had no idea."

...

Chuck climbed out the car, breathing in the salty air. The docks were a flurry of activity; the shouts of the porters and workers, cars pulling up and cargo being hauled amidst the torrents of passengers, almost drowning out the overhead gull cries.

And looming behind all of it, the gleaming bulk of the Olympic; Chuck had to crane his head just to catch the peaks of gold funnels, white plumes of smoke already disappearing into the sky. Even he had to admit that it was an impressive sight.

The purr of an engine alerted him to the car drawing up behind him; it came to a stop, and Bart moved forwards with the silent expectation for his son to do the same.

The driver climbed out, opening the passengers' door. Eleanor emerged first, graciously brushing aside the driver's help as Bart took her hand.

"Lovely to see you again," she smiled, allowing him a kiss. Her gaze zeroed in on his son with imperious satisfaction. "And you, Charles."

Chuck glanced up as a small gloved hand slid into the driver's - followed by a slender figure dressed in cream and red.

Blair looked out from under her hat, brown eyes taking in the same sight that Chuck had, before Bart intercepted her. His expression matched Eleanor's as he took the girl's hand, eyes sliding to his son's cream suit and crimson waistcoat. His lips curled, slightly.

"Shall we proceed?"

The porters had already taken their luggage, bowing and smiling all the way. There was no queue for first class, of course; the broadly carpeted slope up to the ship's deck could hardly be called a_ gangplank_.

"Let's."

Eleanor took Bart's proffered arm, and they swept the way to the ship.

Chuck and Blair took final glances behind them; the familiar skyline of their city already felt like it was slipping away, along with any chance of avoiding the trip. There really was no turning back now.

Resigned, Chuck held out his arm. Blair slid hers into it in silence, and they followed their parents.

Six whole days and nights with no chance of escaping each other.

...

**A/N Now, in terms of the flashback - I hope it doesn't seem too over-dramatic or unrealistic. I do think the idea of Chuck wanting to run away makes sense - in the show it seems to be what he falls back on a lot (e.g. with the nanny, even with Eva). And I know the pregnancy is not the most original idea - but hopefully what going to follow hasn't been done too many times!**

**Next chapter should wrap up the flashbacks...**

**Thank you so much for your continued feedback; it really means a lot!**


	5. Chapter 5

_Two years ago_

Chuck paused before entering to Bart's study, swallowing back his nerves.

He still couldn't process that this was probably the last time he'd see his father. The preparations were all in place; he would be meeting Blair tomorrow morning, before sunrise, and together they were taking the earliest train to Washington DC, were Chuck had a contact who could set them up with new identities. From there, the plan was to get to Chicago. They wouldn't have been able to live anywhere other than a big city - even if it wasn't Manhattan.

He'd been so busy setting it all in motion - planning and scheming down to the last detail - all his thoughts had been centered on getting there, not the reality of what_ there_ was. But now, he realised, the idea of a life without Bart's cold shadow was almost unthinkable. He wasn't even going to be a Bass anymore.

He pushed back the thought; he didn't have time for it. He collected himself, turned the door handle, and entered.

Bart was at his desk, of course. He glanced up just long enough to send a vague frown in his son's direction. He could have done without the distraction.

"Charles. What have you done now?"

Chuck cleared his throat, trying to ignore the assumption.

"Nothing, father." _Nothing yet. _"It's just...I wondered if you'd been to look at that property I told you about."

He wanted it to be his last contribution to the company. His only contribution, in fact; but he'd discovered the old bar several months ago, and had been convinced of its potential. He'd heard Bart talking about gut before; and he really did have an instinct about this place. He wanted it, before he left; proof that he could do something right. That he might even be half the businessman his father was.

Bart sighed. "I've told you before, I have no interest in sullying the Bass name with a cheap burlesque club."

"But that's not what I'd intended," Chuck struggled; it was true that he'd been to look at it with said burlesque club in mind, but the bar really was incredible in its own right. "Didn't you read the proposal?"

Bart set down the papers he'd been studying with a look of irritation. "Do I look like I have the time to go over your attempts at accountancy, Charles?"

All he wanted was to impress him. Just _once; _one final chance, before it was gone forever, to earn anything other than that look of disappointment. Disapproval.

"If you'd just go and look at it," he insisted, verging on desperation. "The place sells itself."

It shouldn't have mattered as much as it did; but it did. He _needed _this.

Needed to prove to himself that -

"Did you put an offer on it?" Bart's expression was suddenly cold, his eyes narrowed.

Chuck almost floundered - _why _did conversations with his father always do this to him? - "I thought if I could convince you," he began; "Make you believe-"

"What I believe," his father snapped, "Is that you've wasted my time and betrayed my trust. How could you put an offer on some bar without even telling me? Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"No," Chuck insisted; he'd made the offer because he'd _had_ to. He believed in the place - and Chuck Bass didn't really believe in anything (other than the churning of certain butterflies) - and he'd been so sure that for once his father would feel the same. "This is a good move for your company, father." He tried to keep his voice even, keep his head like a true businessman; "I stand behind my decision."

"Truly?" Bart's voice was heavy with sarcasm; "Chuck Bass stands by something?"

Chuck froze inwardly. How did his father manage to make the idea sound so ridiculous? Chuck Bass, stand by _anything_?

Bart continued to appraise him. "And what's that worth?"

But it _had_ to be worth something -

"I gave people my word," Chuck blurted, not entirely sure what he was talking about any more - but it wasn't the bar owners he had in mind. "I can't let them down."

He _couldn't_, could he -

"Fortunately," Bart responded coldly, "Letting people down is your forte." He returned to his papers. "I'm busy, Charles. Especially now that you've given me this extra mess to sort out."

He'd been dismissed.

SIlently, Chuck left.

...

"Miss Blair?"

Blair tried not to let out a whimper, struggling to her feet at the knock on the door - but it was wrong; something was so very, very wrong - "Just a minute," she choked, fighting the waves of panic.

She had to get cleaned up; had to -

"Miss Blair?"

The handle of the door started to turn and she rearranged her skirts, trying to force her bloodied underwear into the linen cupboard. She shoved it closed just as the bathroom door opened, revealing the round, worried face of her maid.

"Miss Blair, are you all right?"

Blair was aware that her legs were shaking and she couldn't really stand upright. "I'm fine, Dorota," she managed. She took a step forwards, and the marble floor came up to meet her.

The next thing she was aware of, Dorota was holding her arms, supporting her young charge as Blair clung, pathetically, to her apron.

"Miss Blair," Dorota whispered, beside herself with anxiety; "What is it? You want me to fetch doctor?"

Blair's nails suddenly tightened, making the woman wince; "No!" But even that effort made the room spin; she buried her face in Dorota's skirts, more familiar than her mother's had ever been. "Just get Chuck."

Dorota paused. "Miss Blair-"

"Please," Blair hissed desperately. "Just get him, Dorota. Now."

...

"Chuck?"

Nate paused as entered his friend's suite, the smell of scotch almost overpowering him. The curtains were drawn, the drinks cupboard in a state of disarray.

And, in the center of all the darkness, his best friend was sprawled in a mess of empty bottles and crumpled suit, usually immaculate hair a dark, tousled mess.

"Nathaniel," Chuck slurred, half a sneer; "What are you doing here?"

Nate hesitated. "Are you all right? How much have you had to drink?" He glanced at the bottles.

Chuck simply shrugged; who even cared? "Not enough," he said bitterly. He swallowed another mouthful of alcohol, closing his eyes at the burning in his throat. "Why are you here, Archibald?"

"It's my father. I think he's in trouble."

Chuck stared at him blankly. _Bart Bass _would never get into trouble; not when he had a son to do it for him.

Nate's blue eyes were creased with worry; "I found out today that he drained one of my accounts. My trust fund. I think he has some kind of financial problem, and he won't tell me-"

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Chuck snarled, cutting him off.

Nate blinked at him. There was confusion and even hurt written all over his face; "I just...I wanted to talk to you. You know, my best friend?"

Chuck went rigid.

"Come on, you always know how to make me feel better."

_I know how to make your fiancee feel even better. _

But his tongue had stuck in his throat as he regarded his best friend.

He had always been there for Nate. Once upon a time. Nate, in fact, was the one person he'd never let down. The one person he'd sworn he never would - since the first day he'd met him, and Nate had punched the brat who'd insulted his clothes. (Street urchins knew nothing about style).

Nate was his best friend. The best friend he'd already betrayed, and hadn't even cared. Because, after all, letting people down was his forte.

"I'm busy, Archibald," he ground out at last - echoing his father without even realising. "Why don't you go and tell your problems to someone who cares?"

Nate's eyes widened in surprise. But he got the message; finally, he got to his feet, frowning. "Fine," he muttered. "I will."

And he left Chuck alone.

...

_Chuck Bass stands by something? What's that worth?_

What _was_ it worth, exactly? If his own father knew the truth, then how could Blair ever be expected to believe it? How could he drag her away from _everything_, force her to run away with _him_ - Chuck Bass?

He'd been living in a fantasy, where Blair somehow held his hand and clung to him and looked at him like he was worth something. Like he could be trusted.

How _stupid_ of him, to forget that she was even more deluded than he was.

Chuck Bass - a husband and a father? He shouldn't even be allowed to procreate. Any child of his would be the most unlucky creature born. Any woman trapped to him -

And wasn't that what he'd wanted to do?

Tie Blair to him and never let her go?

He'd known all along that he didn't deserve her; that he was with her on borrowed time. She wasn't his - never had and never would be.

But he'd let himself think, just because she was unfortunate enough to fall with his child, that it somehow changed things. That he somehow had a claim to her, a claim that went beyond all he'd originally had - her virginity. (Which he'd stolen anyway).

Bart's words and the same thoughts continued to swirl, mercilessly, through his head as he drank more and more, and the room grew steadily dimmer and blurrier.

Wasn't this all he was good for?

Wallowing in alcohol and feeling sorry for himself.

Because the truth was, a cold terror had gripped him as the reality of Bart's words had sunk in. The reality of what the hell he was planning on doing. It was that fear that had made him turn to the first, shaky glass of scotch -

He was a coward. Through and through.

"Mr. Bass?"

He looked up in irritation. He'd been vaguely aware of knocking on his door at several points after Nate had left; knocking that he'd ignored. He could've sworn he'd locked the door.

His eyes landed on the maid who'd just walked in, clutching a key. She couldn't have been much older than him - clearly new; blonde and buxom and blank. Another blank, pretty face. Another hot body.

"What?" he growled.

"I'm here to turn down your bed."

"Is that an invitation?" he sneered. He barely knew or cared what he was saying any more.

She looked at him between her lashes. "Would you like it to be, sir?"

Blank faces and hot bodies - wasn't that all he was good for? This one had clearly heard of his reputation - they weren't usually so forward. Probably thought sleeping with the master's son would get her a bonus.

She drew a little closer, and he was aware that she was wearing an inappropriate amount of make-up; she'd clearly painted her face just for him, lips thick and red and almost inviting. Her perfume was thick and too sweet.

It had been a while since he'd done this, but it came so easily. Second nature.

Chuck Bass.

"Come here."

She drew even closer, and the room tilted as the fumes enveloped him, turning his stomach, and all he could see was those red lips. He pulled hazily her onto his lap - wrong, she felt all wrong.

It was the wrong scent.

It hit him, a searing ache - he wanted a small body that moulded perfectly to his, warm brown eyes and dark, silky curls to bury his fingers in -

The red lips were smiling at him now, but he wanted _her_ smile; her smirk, her sneer. Blair. That was all he wanted. All he'd ever want.

The maid pulled his head to hers, kissing his neck, reaching for his lips -

And he lurched to his feet, shoving her away from him.

"Get off me," he snarled. She stumbled backwards in shock, but he no longer cared. He'd already forgotten her as he rocked to the door, yanking it open and squinting in the light of the hallway.

"Mister Chuck! At last."

He blinked, taking in his manservant.

"I just coming to try your door again, sir - I have message for you." Vanya lowered his voice a little; "From Miss Waldorf. Her maid tell me she wish to speak with you."

"Blair?"

"She say it is important."

Chuck staggered forwards, adjusting his tie, ignoring the spinning walls; "Get my coat. Now."

...

Blair lay curled on her bed, cold to the bone. Despite the roaring fire, she'd been shivering most of the day; and now she just felt numb. She _ached_ for a pair of warm arms to hold her; to kiss her hair and tell her everything would be all right.

She should've learnt by now. She wasn't Serena; she didn't get to float through life, taking and doing as she pleased and never having to face the consequences. She was Blair Waldorf, and there were_ always_ consequences. She'd been living in a world where she was free to slip into the darkness as she'd wished - and she should've known she'd go too far. There was a reason she'd always kept to the rules. Reason that a pair of dark eyes had made her forget.

And that tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered nastily that it was only what she deserved. Punishment.

"Miss Blair."

She looked up as Dorota appeared, lifting her head from her arms. "Is it Chuck?" she asked hoarsely; letting herself hope one final time. "Is he here?"

Her maid paused. She glanced back over her shoulder, chewing her lip. "It's Mister Nate." Her tone was uncertain; "Shall I tell him to leave?"

Blair had never wanted to cry quite so badly. "No," she muttered at last. "I'll see him." She owed him at least that, after all; how long had it been since she'd even spoken to her fiance?

She was numb as she slid on a more appropriate dress, allowing Dorota to brush her curls and fasten a pearl necklace. She could tell her maid was doubtful about her decision to go downstairs and receive him. But truly, what difference would it make? She'd never let things spin this far out of control before; never felt so helpless. And it was all her fault.

Nate got to his feet as she entered the parlor.

"Blair." He was almost nervous as he took her hand in his, kissing it; a brief warmth against her skin. "I'm sorry, I know that this is inappropriate...It's just, your mother told me you weren't well."

Her parents had taken a trip to New Haven; Blair had managed to stay behind, claiming illness. All part of the plan. How ironic, now, considering how ill she actually felt. Nate clearly had no problem believing it as he took in her pale face, the slight tremor in her hands. He held them a little tighter.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here," he said softly. "I should be taking better care of you."

She gazed up at him, her hands in his; the comfort of those blue eyes that had once held all the answers - she'd used to think Nate was an angel, with the rays of his smile and his golden hair and the sky and the sea in those eyes.

"Blair," he murmured; and his gaze held only sincerity - only comfort and only gentle love - "I know I've been a terrible fiance. And I'm sorry." His hand, so tender, cupped her cheek; "I love you."

She closed her eyes, feeling the burn of tears gathering behind them; his touch was warm. Not hot, but warm.

"Nate," she whimpered, too sick to hold tighter and too weak to pull away -

All she could do was listen as he told her that he'd been going through problems with his family - problems she hadn't even_ noticed_ - "And I'm sorry for burdening you with this. But I...I need you. I need my wife."

Once upon a time, the only words she'd ever wanted to hear from him.

"Can we go back to the way things used to be?" he murmured, pulling her a little closer.

And this time, she folded against him, burying her face in his neck so he wouldn't see her tears.

The way things used to be.

The door was suddenly thrown open; she sensed Nate look up over her, arms still wrapped around her. "Chuck. What are you doing here?"

Slowly, Blair lifted her head from Nate, turning.

Chuck stood in the doorway, disheveled beyond belief. She could smell the alcohol and the cheap perfume from a few feet away. Chuck was staring at her, at Nate's arms around her; her own eyes met his, then moved to the lipstick smudged all over his face.

"Are you here to see Blair?" Nate asked, clearly bemused. He released her, remembering himself, but his hand curled round hers.

Chuck's gathering of his wits was almost automatic, eyes still fixed on their interlinked hands. "Of course not." He still couldn't meet his best friend's gaze, eyes burning into Blair's; "I was looking for you."

Blair could hear the slur in his voice; she noticed the lipstick descended below his collar.

"Well, you've found him." Was that her voice, that distant and that cold? "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with my fiance."

The message couldn't have been any clearer. Chuck's eyes suddenly clouded over, almost black. His gaze still never left hers.

He finally managed to force his voice to work; "I'll leave you to it, then."

...

_Now_

Blair leaned back in the deck chair, rug wrapped securely around her and hands folded gracefully in her lap; the picture of poise as she gazed down over the other passengers on the deck.

She wasn't usually one for people watching - actively, anyway; but this way she at least avoided being trapped in a cabin with her mother. It didn't matter how large or elegant their rooms were - she was still only a door away from Eleanor's criticism and insistence that _certain people_ might prefer it if she did her hair in _this_ way, or wore _this_ necklace; and they'd have to stop in London and get her some new dresses made, because the ones she'd brought for traveling were _not the most flattering - _

Besides, she rather enjoyed passing judgement on the other ladies' dresses.

Her eyes narrowed as they fell on an all too familiar figure, leaning against the railings.

No doubt he'd come to leer at the women himself.

And he was obviously standing there deliberately; back against the ocean, so that he cut a dashing figure on the horizon, sunlight whipping across his dark hair and catching his cheekbones just so -

Glowering, she forced her attention back to the monstrosity that was the woman to her left's purple dress.

God, she _hated_ him.

"Blair."

She'd been so busy focusing her loathing into the swirls on that purple material that she hadn't even noticed him approach. And his shadow was blocking out the sun - that_ had_ to be deliberate too.

"Charles." She kept sweetness and sneer perfectly balanced, slanting her eyes up at him.

Chuck couldn't help but notice the faint glow to her cheeks and the way the breeze teased her curls - teasing him, more like. She looked more relaxed than he'd seen her in a while.

"The sea air seems to be doing you good."

He said it almost without thinking, and instantly regretted it. She took it as a veiled insult, anyway - as only Blair could. He could see her eyes narrowing as she tried to work out exactly how he'd offended her.

"Meaning what? That I was a washed out mess in New York?"

He rolled his eyes. He needn't have worried. She'd never choose to hear a compliment from him in any case.

"Are you going to brunch later?" he asked instead, drily.

"Did Bart tell you to ask me that?"

She hadn't meant for it to sound quite so sour; he appraised her, eyebrows arched, and she sighed. Perhaps she was being a little unreasonable.

"It's not like mother would allow me to miss it," she admitted, grudgingly.

"Father's already reminded me twice this morning," he grumbled.

"I don't think I'm going to survive these six days."

"I don't know why it didn't occur to me to request separate apartments. You realize there's nowhere to run when you're sharing a cabin?"

"I suppose we should be grateful we're not in third class," she reflected in morose agreement. They exchanged a look, repressing a shudder at the thought.

And there it was - the fraction of the faintest smiles on both their faces. A shared moment of solidarity. The slightest softening.

Then Blair hastily remembered herself. "Well. I suppose I'll see you there, then."

His gaze rested on her. She tried not to enjoy the all too familiar feel of those dark eyes; his lips curled, slightly.

"I'm sure they'll have arranged for us to be sitting close together."

She rolled her eyes. "Without a doubt."

She couldn't read his eyes; the sun shone into them, shielding his expression. It caught their hazel flecks, gleaming golden as he tilted his head down at her. Did he have to look quite so beautiful _all _the time?

"I'll see you later, Blair."

He moved away, letting the sun fall back onto her; for some reason, though, she was already too hot. She yanked at the blanket irritatedly.

_Beautiful?_

The sea air really was going to her head.

...

The terrace room was exquisitely laid out; it had been designed so that the large French windows let in maximal sunlight, the interior a mix of shining paneling and white marble, crisp white tablecloths laid with dazzling crystal and silver that caught the light from all angles.

As predicted, Chuck and Blair were sat opposite each other, Bart and Eleanor on either side. Their parents' lack of subtlety really was verging on insulting. Not that either of them cared, obviously.

Blair was about to take her seat, when a smooth male voice enquired from behind her; "May I?"

She glanced round, and her eyes widened in slight surprise.

It was Chuck's voice that cut across them, though, stiff with disbelief; "Carter Baizen?"

The other man, who was flawlessly suited with slicked back brown hair, smiled. It didn't quite meet his eyes. "Chuck Bass. I haven't seen you in a while."

As he spoke, he pulled Blair's chair and guided her into it, tucking it in after her.

Chuck tried not to feel too irritated at the sight of his hands quite so close to Blair's narrow shoulders and pure white dress.

Carter Baizen had been Chuck's biggest rival in Manhattan; the original scotch drinking, womanizing CB. He'd disappeared for several years, though - rumour had it he'd renounced his fortune to travel the world. Chuck didn't believe it for a second. Renounced his fortune for the lure of international gambling, more like.

Chuck took his seat as Carter took the vacant one next to Blair.

"I hadn't realized you were even back in New York."

"I was only there for a few days." Carter addressed his answer to Blair, pointedly, flashing her another smile. "Catching up. It's been a while since I've seen _you_, Miss Waldorf. May I say how lovely you're looking?"

Blair was unmoved. "It's actually Mrs. Archibald."

Carter raised his eyebrows. His gaze flickered to Chuck. "Oh. I'd assumed..." He chuckled. "Well, I'd assumed Chuck had managed to steal you." Blair stiffened, and Carter threw Chuck a wink. "Not for lack of trying, huh?"

"Why don't you stop talking nonsense, Baizen?" Chuck managed through ground teeth.

"Oh, come on," Carter laughed. "It was obvious you had a little thing for your best friend's girl when we were growing up. You were never exactly subtle, Bass. In fact, I believe you actually tried to _punch _that boy who looked up her skirts." He attempted to exchange a grin with Blair - "Can you imagine? Chuck Bass actually fighting someone? I couldn't even see it now, let alone when we were six-"

"Is that Carter Baizen?"

Chuck had never been more grateful to hear his father's voice, giving him an excuse to avoid Blair's gaze, which he could feel burning into him; he didn't want to read the expression on her face.

It would be one of scorn, he was sure. What else could it have been?

"It is," he said instead. "_Luckily_ for us."

He was aware of Eleanor zeroing in on the young man over Blair's head. "William Baizen's son?" There was no disguising the interest in her voice. Carter Baizen certainly cut a dashing figure, and with that money -

"I hear you cut yourself off from your father, Mr. Baizen," Bart commented calmly. "And decided to renounce your inheritance?"

Chuck glanced at him in surprise; he wasn't even aware Bart followed news like that. But then, his father did keep on top of everything.

And at this, Eleanor's lips pursed with the faintest disapproval. "What a...bold decision." On second thoughts, Carter Baizen was perhaps less appealing.

"I'm sure Carter's enjoyed seeing how the other half live," Chuck joined in with a faint smirk.

"Most admirable," Bart agreed.

Chuck glanced at him again; was that a _twinkle_ in his father's eye? He must have imagined it.

"Hmm." Eleanor's gaze no longer even brushed Carter. "Charles, dear, would you fill up Blair's water glass?"

Blair breathed a silent sigh of relief. Purely based on her dislike of Carter Baizen, of course; he was certainly the worse of two evils. And she didn't think she could have coped with Eleanor trying to seize _two_ suitors for her.

(And who even _cared_ what Chuck Bass had done at six; he'd probably punched Tucker Hamilton because he'd beat him to looking up her skirts first. Which was disgusting, obviously. Not that she cared. At all).

Carter, sensing that he was falling out of favour, tried to change the topic of conversation; "So, where is Nathaniel?" He scanned the table. "Don't tell me he's left you in Chuck's care?" Another smile flashed at Blair; "It would be good to see him. We were very good friends."

In fact, that had been the sorest point between Chuck and Carter; their friendship with Nate. Carter didn't have a best friend. Chuck did. So Carter had been determined to get one - and Nate was so friendly and easy-going that he'd appeared to get quite close.

Blair gave Carter a cold look. "Such good friends that you weren't even aware of his passing?"

There was a silence.

Slowly, Carter picked up his glass. "Well," he managed; "When one is out of New York for as long as..." His eyes flickered across the table, anywhere other than the four frosty glares suddenly aimed at him. "If you'll excuse me, I've just seen an old acquaintance."

And he made a swift departure.

...

**A/N Dialogue between Chuck and Bart in the flashback is based on 2x07.**

**I'm very sorry about the delay in updates...this week has been insanely busy! So, I lied - there will be one final flashback next chapter. And for all those who prefer the present day bits, I'm sorry the flashback this chapter was so long - but it was necessary. Also, I promise promise the next chapter will have far more action in the present day :)**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed!**


	6. Chapter 6

_Two years ago_

"So. You two are in love again?"

He was leaning against the pillar outside; he'd obviously been waiting for Nate to leave. Blair pulled her shawl tighter, wrapping her arms around herself. The night air was bitter - not that he seemed to notice.

Dorota had been dead set against the idea of her going back down there to him; but she'd told the maid, flatly, that it wouldn't take long. She knew he'd never leave her alone, otherwise; he'd probably have taken to hammering at the door if she hadn't come out. And the truth was, she was exhausted. It took every inch of her willpower just to stand upright.

But she would not tremble in front of him. She kept her stare level, trying to keep her face as blank as possible. He hadn't even wiped the lipstick off.

"Was she worth it?"

For a beat, he stared back. _Who?_

"Is Archibald?" he asked instead, a sneer already forming. A sneer because he was terrified that he already knew the answer - Nate _was_ worth it. Always had been, always would be.

Chuck was the worthless one.

"Nate," she said, very quietly, "Is my fiance. And he loves me."

Could he say the same? She'd been too afraid to ask. She'd told herself theirs wasn't a verbal language; but right now, she needed to hear those three words. It was a silent, final plea.

Did Chuck love her?

But all Chuck heard was _Nate_. It was always going to be Nate. After _everything_ he'd done to her.

"You honestly believe that?" he hissed. "Nate _loves _you? Are you really that deluded?" He was trying, desperately, to wake her up - to remind her. To bring her back to him.

_Deluded_. Of course. Because no one could _ever_ love her.

"I love him," she said, quietly. And she experienced a dull throb of pleasure as she saw the pain in his eyes at that simple statement. "Nate," she went on, trying to draw on that pain - to make it as bad as the one she was feeling - "Is twice the man you'll ever be."

Chuck grabbed her wrist at that, suddenly dragging her to him - anything to stop the words coming out of her mouth - "Oh, really? Because judging from the way you've responded," he pulled her close enough to feel her pulse, the rise and fall of her chest; "I'd say I was _more_ than man enough for you."

She jerked backwards, trying to free herself, because she was suddenly shaking even more than she had been earlier. He didn't let go, so she finally forced herself to square up to him.

"Then where were you today, Chuck? When I asked you to come over?" She raised a finger, trembling, and slowly, deliberately, ran it over his cheek, catching the red smear of the lipstick. She held it up in front of him. "Well?"

It took him a second to realize what it was; then his nostrils suddenly flared.

"Blair-"

"I don't even know why I'm surprised," she hissed. "I knew I could never trust you."

Her words were like a slap, though he tried to ignore them. "Blair, I didn't-"

"Nate was here today." Her voice was low. "And you weren't. And you know what? You never will be." She lifted her eyes to his, chin set. "I don't care if she was worth it or not. Because it's made me realise how close I was to making the biggest mistake of my life."

The truth was, she barely knew what she was saying - but she _needed_ to be nasty as possible, the release of all the nastiness inside her finally spilling out; she _needed _him to feel as badly as she did.

He let go of her, trying not to flinch. He'd known all along. She'd never wanted to run away with him. Why would she? He had one bitter victory, though - (if it could even be called that). His lip curled as he bit out, harshly, "Aren't you forgetting something? Mistake or not, you don't have a choice." His face was somewhere agonizingly between a smirk and a grimace; "Give it a couple more months, and you'll find out just how much Nate loves you. And he'll find out what a whore his fiancee is."

He wanted her to slap him, for that - but she didn't.

Her eyes had closed off. "Actually," she answered, almost a whisper, "That won't be a problem anymore."

He stared at her, his blood suddenly running cold. "What are you talking about?"

Her voice was millimeters from cracking; and there was no way she could even begin tell him - tell anyone, least of all _him_ - what had happened. The blood. It _hurt_ too much. She hurt too much.

She straightened her shoulders. "Why do you think I wanted to speak to you today?" Chuck could always see through her lies; but she'd never been this desperate. Never felt this little like herself. Maybe this Blair Waldorf could lie to him with ease. "The fact that you didn't show up just confirms that I made the right decision."

"What decision?" Chuck's eyes were blazing into hers with wild desperation, horror; and it was another Blair Waldorf that answered straight back into them.

"I got it taken care of."

She tried to feel some kind of satisfaction at the blood that had drained from his face. At the rigidity of his jaw. Him hating her was far better than him ever knowing the truth; she could never be that vulnerable in front of him. She _couldn't _trust him.

"You didn't."

It was choked. And for a second, she saw so much agony in his eyes that she nearly crumpled - just for that fraction of that second.

But they were both too good at fixing their masks. He jerked his gaze away from hers, refusing to let her see any more. And when he turned it back to her, his eyes were blank.

"Well," he said distantly; "What a relief."

She gazed up at him. She wanted the pain now; needed it to build her own walls.

"She was worth it, incidentally," he went on without emotion. "A better lay than you ever were. It opened my eyes to the truth. I would never want a family with _you_." He forced himself to carry on. "In fact, now that I've got what I wanted - and there's no longer reason for me to stay - I should make myself clearer. I don't want _you _anymore."

He looked her up and down, head to toe; into her and right through her. "You disgust me." The most hurtful thing he could think of saying to her -

It was no surprise, really. She disgusted herself. She was too drained to even cry. Too faint to even fight back.

"Have a nice life, Chuck."

He moved his gaze away from her, deliberately; and she turned, slowly, and left.

The next day, he had disappeared into regions of America unknown. He came back three weeks later, the last remmanants of drugs and alcohol leaving his system; tie perfectly knotted and a new, single-minded determination to succeed in his father's company. He found out the same day that Nate and Blair had selected the venue for their wedding and set a final date.

...

_Now_

"Bass. What a surprise."

Chuck made no effort to hide his eye roll at the familiar sneer. So much for enjoying his scotch in the solitude of the bar. But then no one else would be seeking a drink so soon after brunch.

"Baizen."

Carter flicked his hand at the barman, ordering the same. "I thought I might find you here."

"And how did you even get here?" Chuck sneered back. "Was your ticket stolen or gambled?" Because how _had _Carter suddenly obtained the money for a first-class ticket?

Carter smirked. "Neither, actually. Haven't you heard? I'm being reaccepted into the fold."

Chuck arched an eyebrow. What was Baizen up to now? "You mean your family have actually taken you back? More fool them."

Carter chuckled at that; not a pleasant sound. "Well, it's not a done deal just yet. But I'm on the way. Once I get some business handled in London, I'll be back in line for the Baizen fortune."

He wondered, irritatedly, why Carter was even bothering to tell him this.

"And what about you?" Carter went on. "Are you hoping that with Archibald out the way, Blair might actually look at you if you sniff around her long enough?"

Chuck forced back a mouthful of scotch, refusing to rise to it. That was only what Carter wanted.

"Don't you think that line's getting a little old, Baizen?"

"Maybe. But just because it's pathetic doesn't mean it's not true."

Chuck's knuckles tightened round his scotch glass. "Whatever you want to think." He would not rise to it.

"Not that I can't see where you're coming from." Carter tilted his head, taking a contemplative sip of his own drink. "Miss Waldorf certainly is a fine specimen." Chuck could feel the bastard appraising him, goading. Pushing. "In fact, if you really don't feel anything for her, maybe I should have a go myself."

Chuck's head snapped round. "What?"

Carter shrugged. "It certainly won't hurt chances with my family if I show up with a pretty girl on my arm. And a Waldorf heiress, no less."

"And what makes you think," Chuck ground out, as coldly as he could, "That you'd even stand a chance?" His eyes narrowed to dangerous slants; "Especially given the impression you left this morning?"

"Well, I guess I have nothing to lose, do I? Maybe I should try to find out."

He got up to leave, but Chuck's hand shot out, suddenly grabbing his sleeve.

Carter tried to shrug him off, regarding his hand with disdain; "Come now, Bass. Let's not embarrass ourselves."

Chuck ignored him, his voice a low hiss. "In case you'd forgotten, her husband has just died. You'd do well to respect that."

"Or what?" Carter taunted. "Are you trying to defend her honour again? How touching."

"I have contacts in London, Baizen. And you obviously aren't on the most stable ground with your family yet. So you'd best be careful very careful who you cross."

Carter registered the threat, his eyes hardening. "Or perhaps you're just trying to clear the ground so you can get a decent shot at her?"

"Since the message seems to be taking a while to penetrate your thick skull, I'll make this very clear. I have no interest in pursuing Blair."

This simply earned him a snort. "Keep telling yourself that."

Chuck set his glass down. "Isn't there another bar on this ship? In third class, perhaps? I'm sure you'd feel more at home there."

"Oh, I'm quite comfortable here," Carter replied with a nasty smile. He drained his glass. "All right then, Bass. I have a proposition. How about a wager?"

"A wager? From a gambling addict? Now there's a surprise."

Carter ignored him, his eyes glinting. "If you land Miss Waldorf, I promise I'll leave you alone. Forever. I'll even throw in a bottle of Dalmore 85."

"I'd be happy just to never see your face again, actually. You can keep your second rate scotch."

"But if I get her - you convince your father to give me a place in his company."

Slowly, Chuck turned to stare at him. So that was what he'd been up to.

"That's what all of this is about?" His tone was one of incredulity; "You want a _job_ at Bass Industries?"

"I have my reasons," Carter replied with a humorless smirk. His face was set. "So, how about it? Deal?"

"Are you deluded?" Chuck asked flatly.

"All right," his opponent grimaced. "Let me put this another way. If you _don't _get me that position, I won't leave Blair alone." He bared his teeth. "And you know how persuasive I can be."

"I also know," Chuck snapped, "That it will never work. This is Blair Waldorf you're talking about." His lip curled with the faintest note of pride.

"The same Blair Waldorf who lost her husband," Carter reminded him calmly, "And has no one left to turn to. Whose mother would do anything to see her married off." He shook his head. "I'm going to get my fortune back one way or another, Bass. And if I can't get it through Bass Industries, then I'll get it through the Waldorf legacy."

"You will not-"

"Will not what? I have nothing left to lose, remember?" Carter snarled. "So you'd better start talking to your father."

...

"Blair." Chuck took her hand, as expected, bowing formally. "You look lovely."

Of course; Bart was watching. Blair's eyes flickered away from his, telling herself that there couldn't possibly be any sincerity in them. Chuck was nothing if not a master of smooth talking.

She let him guide her to his seat, wondering with irritation why she was suddenly encompassed by that prickling heat. Was there something wrong with the circulation on this ship? She considered, for a second, that it was the heat of his hand - but that was impossible. They were both wearing gloves.

Perhaps it was the intensity of her hatred for him.

Chuck felt an irrational stab of - hatred, he decided - as his gaze skimmed the bare nape of her neck; was she wearing her hair up purely to torture him? He dragged his eyes away and took his seat.

The main dining room was even more stifling than the terrace room. She should have felt at home amongst the oak panels and gilded columns, but the dizzying array of mirrors only served to suffocate her. The tightness of her undergarments didn't help; Eleanor had drawn them herself, and she'd never felt more like her mother's doll, coifed in pearls and crimson chiffon, her hair pulled up high on her neck in tightly wound curls. She was trapped again; between her mother and a particularly irritating society matron. A large, nosy woman who couldn't seem to keep her tongue still for more than a second.

"So, when are you two getting hitched?" she asked now, with a knowing wink at Chuck, seated across the table. Her accent grated. She was clearly even newer money than the Basses, Blair reflected meanly.

And why did people _keep_ assuming that? Could they not see the lechery oozing from Chuck a mile off? Surely they could see what a poor match the two of them would make?

"We're not engaged," Chuck informed the woman, saving Blair the trouble. She glanced at him; but the expression on his face was unreadable. She decided it had to be disgust.

"Not yet, anyway," the woman said with a meaningful grin. She did not know when to give up.

"Not ever," Blair assured her sweetly, and immediately felt the burn of Eleanor's glare.

"But you're traveling together?" the woman pressed, with a curious glance at their parents.

"Purely a matter of convenience," Chuck assured her before Bart could answer. "We're...old family friends."

"Nothing more," Blair added.

"Uh-huh." The woman was unconvinced. The connection between these two was definitely not that of old family friends. She'd seen the way the young man was staring at the girl as she'd descended the stairwell into the dining room - when he'd thought no one was looking. And how quickly and determinedly his eyes had slid away when her gaze met his.

Chuck felt a familiar wave of disgust as he spotted Carter at the next table, leering quite pointedly at Blair. He saw Chuck looking and smirked, blue eyes calculating. Did he seriously think Chuck would ever suggest that his father employ him? Chuck had a responsibility to Bass Industries, and the idea of that_ insect_ working for Bart -

The same insect who would not stop _looking_ at her. He knew he was only doing it to get at him, but his skin was actually crawling under his suit. Chuck's loyalty had to lie first and foremost with his father - but there was no way in hell Blair was falling into Baizen's clutches.

Blair glanced up from her sorbet in time to see Chuck's eyes darken, and, frowning, followed his gaze. Ugh. Baizen. She should've known. The two men were glaring at each other now.

Their parents were still engaged in conversation; she leant across the table and said softly, drily, "You're about to shatter your wine glass, Chuck."

His eyes lowered to hers, and they were black with a hatred that almost caught her breath. She stared.

Then he seemed to remember himself, and loosened his hold on the poor glass. "Right. My apologies." She was still looking at him with a strange expression, eyebrows raised; he made the effort to pull himself together. "I just wish they exercised a tighter policy on who they let into first class," he muttered darkly. "Vermin should stay amongst vermin." His eyes slid back to Carter; Blair's did too, and she felt a flicker of repulsion as she realised he was staring at her.

"Not exactly subtle, is he?"

"When has Carter Baizen ever been?" she asked wryly; but she was wondering why it seemed to aggravate him quite so much.

She suddenly wondered if he was jealous. Jealous, perhaps, that - and as soon as it came, she banished the thought. Instantly annoyed that she'd even entertained it; of course he wasn't _jealous. _Stupid girl. Why would she even _want _him to be?

She gaze shifted between the two men, irrational irritation increasing. No, Carter just thought he could use her to goad Chuck, and Chuck hated to lose. She was nothing more than a pawn. Because lately, when was she _ever_ anything else? Well, she'd been Eleanor's pawn for long enough, and she was damned if she was going to let either of those two do the same.

She couldn't explain why she suddenly felt quite so frustrated - _jealous, _of all things - and, snatching at her fan, rose to her feet.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm not feeling too well."

All eyes on the table instantly moved to her; but she ignored Chuck, and she ignored the pointed glare from Eleanor - dinner was almost over, anyway, and she couldn't sit in that stifling ballroom a second longer.

She'd had enough.

As soon as she left, Bart turned to his son to give him a significant look - but, to his surprise, Chuck was already on his feet. Was the boy actually _volunteering_ to go after her?

"If you'll excuse me too."

Bart's gaze met Eleanor's, impressed; and next to them, the society matron smiled to herself, shaking her head. Old family friends indeed.

...

Blair pressed her body against the cold railings, feeling her blood gradually cool and her pulse slow. The night air was cold enough to catch her lungs. She breathed it in; wasn't that what she wanted? That familiar, numbing blanket of coldness.

"Thinking of jumping?"

She closed her eyes, cursing inwardly. She'd originally come outside just needing to breathe; but once she'd realised Eleanor or Bart would no doubt send Chuck out after her, she'd headed for the furthest deck in the hopes of losing him.

But _of course_ he'd found her. There was, apparently, never any escape from Chuck Bass.

They both glanced down at the sheer drop and the churning darkness of water below; she scoffed. Who would be _that_ stupid? In any case, she was beginning to doubt even those icy waters could cool the heat that was already starting to burn under her skin. It was like every nerve in her body was _electrified_ with hatred. Well, what other explanation could there be?

"Don't worry," she sighed. "I wouldn't want to give you the satisfaction. Although your presence alone is enough to drive anyone to suicide."

"Ah, there's that sweet tongue I've missed."

She paused, glancing at him; because for a moment, that had felt like...them. The banter that had once been so easy between them. He glanced back, and she wondered if he'd realised too.

He smiled crookedly, more a faint twist of his lips. "Will you take my jacket, then, so I don't get blamed when you catch pneumonia?" His voice was dry, but she instantly backed away from the offered jacket.

"I'm warm enough, thank you."

His eyes narrowed, skeptically, on the paleness of her exposed skin; but she wasn't lying. And as long as those dark eyes were on her treacherous skin, in fact, she needed to distract him from the flush she was sure had already started to rise.

"So you can report back that I'm fine. I'm sure our parents are besides themselves with worry."

He opened his mouth to answer that, actually, Bart and Eleanor hadn't sent him - then snapped it closed again as he realised that meant he'd _chosen_ to go after her.

"Right," he forced out. She looked at him curiously, again, and he was suddenly afraid that she'd seen through his lie. What was wrong with him tonight? He was acting strange, and he knew it. If she'd just take the damn jacket, so he didn't have to keep tearing his eyes away from the sight of her skin in the moonlight...why did she have run away to such a secluded deck, anyway?

"You can go now," she said, pointedly.

He scowled; the idea of leaving her alone in the night didn't sit well with him - and if she wasn't being quite so stubborn, she'd realise the same thing. Particularly with Baizen on the prowl, he reminded himself.

"I'd rather walk you back," he snapped.

She gave him an acidic look. "Don't worry, Chuck; I'm sure if I get lost or attacked in the twenty minutes between here and my room, I can leave Bart a note to say it wasn't your fault."

"That's not-"

Her head shot up, daring him to finish the sentence - which he refused to, of course. They glowered at each other.

"I don't need you to take care of me," Blair said at last, stiffly. Her voice lowered, eyes dropping; "We both know Nate had no idea what he was talking about."

Chuck flinched.

Nate.

He realised, numbly, that he hadn't even been thinking about that. His best friend's final request. The one that should have been the _only_ motivation for wanting to protect her.

"No," he finally agreed, and his voice was low. Bitter. "He didn't."

Blair was aware that she suddenly felt exhausted. How did Chuck always manage to do this to her?

"You know, I think I will go back."

Chuck followed her in silence.

...

They were nearing the lower decks, the silence still heavy between them - both refusing to look at each other - when Blair ground to an abrupt stop, drawing breath in a hiss.

"Chuck."

He stopped behind her, straining to see what she was staring at. There was a couple ahead of them; clearly up to no good in the shadow of one of the lifeboats.

Any other time, he might have been tempted to make a lewd comment.

He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts that it hadn't registered first time round; but now he heard it.

That voice. And the low, sickly laugh.

His eyes met Blair's in disbelief.

"Georgina."

...

**A/N Thank you for your reviews! And I'm very glad to hear that some of you have at least enjoyed the flashbacks :) Sorry that this is a slightly shorter chapter...**


	7. Chapter 7

Chuck dragged the door to Blair's room shut as she reeled round to face him.

"What is Georgina Sparks doing on this ship?" she hissed.

Fortunately, their parents were either still at dinner or had retired to the lounge; so they had time to collect their thoughts.

"I don't know," Chuck muttered back. "Perhaps it's just coincidence."

But he didn't really believe it either, because; "It's_ Georgina_. Nothing is ever _coincidence_ where she's concerned."

"We haven't seen her at any meals," he realised. He was pacing, now; he couldn't help it. Carter was bad enough, but Georgina actually gave him chills. "Not when we boarded, not on deck..."

"So she can't be in first class." Blair couldn't stop the faint curl of a gloating smirk; "Which means she's staying with the commoners."

"But she's supposed to be in Texas. Or Mississippi. I made sure of it." How the hell had she even got back to Manhattan?

She had to have known that Chuck and Blair would be on board; Bart's business venture had been mentioned in enough papers, and there wasn't a single gossip column that had failed to notice that the Waldorfs would be accompanying him. And even if it _was_ coincidence, regardless of what her other motives may have been - she'd be after one thing once she realized. Chuck and Blair excelled in revenge, but for Georgina it went beyond an obsession.

There was no way she'd let either of them - especially Chuck - get away with what they'd done when they were in such close proximity.

"She can't get at us from third class," Blair suddenly declared, with far more confidence than she felt. She would not be intimidated -

Chuck just looked at her.

"It's _Georgina."_

_

* * *

_

By the time Chuck got back to his apartments, Bart was already there, reclining on the velvet lounger. And there was actually a drink rather than a sheaf of papers in his hand.

He glanced up as his son entered. "How's Miss Waldorf?"

For once, Chuck didn't bother to correct him on her name. "She's fine. Back in her room." Watching her panic had actually helped him clamp down on his own panic; calming her down had given him something to do. Besides, Chuck and Blair didn't panic - they schemed. They had eventually agreed to keep a low profile, for now, and try to find out as much about Georgina from a safe distance. Admittedly, there wasn't much else they _could_ do.

Bart nodded. He took a sip of his drink, then commented; "I was impressed that you went to check she was all right."

Chuck stared; was his father actually _praising_ him?

Bart raised an eyebrow. "That's the kind of responsible behavior I've been wanting to see from you, Charles."

Chuck swallowed in nervous pleasure. "I...I'm glad."He'd finally got his father's _approval _for something. He couldn't believe it.

Bart seemed to realise too; it wasn't every day they had conversations this pleasant, after all. He cleared his throat. "I noticed Carter Baizen's interest, though."

Chuck pulled a face.

Bart glanced at him. "I don't think Baizen is to be trusted. And I certainly don't think he'd make a good match for her."

"I couldn't agree more," Chuck answered darkly, and this seemed to please Bart.

"We need to do whatever we can to keep him out of the way."

_We?_

Chuck actually had his father's support in this?

"Of course, sir," he stammered. _For God's sake_, he berated himself - _show a little backbone_. He wasn't a stuttering idiot, even if Bart did make him feel like it sometimes. His father was actually treating him like an equal. For once, they were actually on the same page. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen," he promised.

"Good." Bart nodded, rising to his feet. "Good night, Charles."

"Good night, father."

* * *

That night he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

He'd come up with a plan. As long as he was there, Carter had no hope of getting to Blair. In fact, everything was in Chuck's favour - he not only had Bart's support, but even Eleanor's. All he had to do was play along with their plan, and Carter wouldn't stand a hope. Blair would be safe.

And, he told himself - over and over - keeping her safe was only keeping his promise to Nate. He was fulfilling a duty. Nothing more. It_ couldn't_ come from his own desires. He'd shut off any desire to protect her a long time ago. He'd buried all of those feelings. She wasn't his to protect. He kept reminding himself of those facts, a mantra, as he lay there.

But it didn't really explain the burning jealousy (and he knew that was what it was, really) at the mere idea of Carter touching her. Or the fact that his first instinct tonight had not been to run, but to get her away from Georgina.

It didn't explain the way her brown eyes had been haunting him for the past three years, and, for some reason, he couldn't justify it with hatred any more.

He hated Carter. He hated Georgina.

And those feelings weren't anything like what he felt for Blair.

Which left him with what, exactly?

She certainly hated him.

If anything, he hated for not _letting_ him hate her. It wasn't fair. If he did hate her, like he'd been set on doing for so long, everything would be so much simpler. There wouldn't be this infernal churning in his stomach, for one thing.

The answer, he resolved, was to keep everything as simple as possible. Deal with one problem at a time. (He'd never admit it, but he may have inherited Blair's love for lists. They were logical. That was all).

Firstly, keep an eye on Georgina. Be prepared for any possible attack.

Second, carry out Bart and Eleanor's plan. That killed several birds with one stone - kept Carter away, kept his father happy, and kept his promise to Nate.

Third, stop thinking about Blair.

No.

Third, stop focusing on_ feelings_, and focus on thinking. Scheming. That was what Chuck Bass did best, and it was the only way to survive.

There. Simple.

He rolled over onto his front, squeezing his eyes shut, and tried to replace the damn fluttering in his stomach with sleep. And he was still trying when the first rays of grey light began to filter through his porthole.

* * *

Blair was bored out of her mind.

Tea in the ladies' room was certainly not her idea of an entertaining morning. She might otherwise have enjoyed the chance to dress up and sit gossiping and drinking tea from the best china. But being forced into another dress, this one a deep green, that she didn't want to wear - _I've told you, Blair, just because you're in 'mourning' doesn't mean you shouldn't make the most of your assets. You should be emphasizing your fair skin, not dulling it out with blacks _- and forced into her mother's company, once again, was the last thing she needed.

It didn't help that the ladies in this room were awful. She actually would have been grateful to replace them with that nosy woman from dinner last night.

"So, Eleanor, what are your plans in London?" a particularly irritating socialite - Penelope, if Blair recalled correctly - asked from over her tea cup. Her eyes slid to Blair with a false smile. "After all, you've just missed debutante season. All the eligible bachelors will be otherwise occupied."

Eleanor pursed her lips. She was a New Yorker, through and through; instilled with the firm belief - which she'd passed to her daughter - that Manhattan was the only city worth living in. "We certainly have no desire to hunt for eligible bachelors in _London_. Blair and I are actually going on to Paris. Given the circumstances, I felt my daughter could do with a break."

Her tone was pleasant enough, but her gaze withering; and there was the veiled reminder that her daughter was a widow and should be treated with the appropriate respect. (Eleanor only seemed to remember this at convenient times, of course - but this time Blair wasn't complaining).

Penelope's expression soured. "Of course."

"Doesn't your husband live in Paris?" another woman chimed in. "He's been there for a few years, has he not?"

"On business," Blair snapped, before her mother could answer. She would not permit _any _of them to insult her father.

"Hmm. Rather a long business trip, don't you think?" The women exchanged smirks behind their cups, a faint snigger.

"You're traveling with Bart Bass, though, aren't you?" Penelope had got her footing back, and was quite set on making her point. "I'm surprised either of you feel safe around him. Or his son."

"I can assure you," Eleanor responded icily, "That Bartholomew and Charles are perfect gentlemen. They have shown us nothing but the utmost respect." Her eyes narrowed. "Which is more than I can say for some."

Blair glanced to her mother in surprise; the intimidating levels of acidity coming from her were nothing new, of course - what was surprising was that she was _grateful _for them. She couldn't remember that ever happening.

"Well," one of the ladies snorted; "It seems new money really can buy you anything these days. Even manners."

Eleanor's lips thinned to a hard line. She was well aware of the connotations with _new money;_ she'd weighed them up herself. She may have been one for reputation, but she was also, above anything else, practical. Keenly and cunningly so. And she was also aware that old money, while fashionable, had a tendency to be frittered away by aristocrats with no concept of a modern economy. And Bart Bass certainly did not fall into the category of vulgar new money; he was a shrewd businessman. Which his son had all the makings of.

She was no stranger the spiteful digs and bitchiness of these events; she'd had years of practice dealing with them. She'd already decided on what she wanted, and a few fools' criticism would only strengthen her resolve. No one told Eleanor Waldorf what to do.

"What a shame your husband's money couldn't buy you any," Blair responded sweetly.

Eleanor glanced at her daughter with a flicker of pride. She didn't approve of rudeness as a general rule, but sometimes it was necessary. She'd taught her well; just the right level of politeness, society smile still in place.

She couldn't have put it better herself.

* * *

Blair and Eleanor left the room in procession with the others; Blair still seething inwardly.

The tea room led directly into the lounge, where the men usually gathered to smoke cigars and play billiards. And - to speak of the devil - there in the corner stood Chuck Bass. He glanced up as she came in, his gaze meeting hers; and she was aware that all the ladies were looking too.

Well, she'd show them.

Head held high, she marched towards Chuck.

No one insulted the Waldorfs. Or any of their decisions.

"Chuck," she said clearly - for them all to hear - drawing even closer. Her fingertips even brushed the arm of his jacket as she smiled up at him, radiant. "There you are." She held her hand out for him to kiss and he pressed it to his warm lips, eyes searching hers. "Would you escort me to the sun deck for a breath of fresh air? There's something about this room making me feel quite unwell."

He knew at once that she was up to something, of course; he cast a curious glance back at the other women, half amused, before returning to her. Still, he was more than happy to play along. "It would be a pleasure." He held his arm out, and she slid hers into it with another smile up at him.

"Thank you."

They departed together; Chuck even caught the small of her back as he held the door open for her, guiding her smoothly through.

Amidst the mutters of the women, Eleanor's gaze met Bart's. They exchanged a small, delighted smile.

* * *

"So," Chuck enquired wryly as they strolled over the deck - her arm was still in his; she must not have realised yet - "What was all of that about?"

She wrinkled her nose. "They were rude to mother," was all she said, simply; and it was all she needed to.

He snorted. "Well, then they're clearly even stupider than I thought."

Blair tried not to smile at that. "Quite." She still hadn't removed her arm, and Chuck hadn't let go. They carried on down the paneled walkway, the sea to their right and sunlight slanted through the columns. "Have you managed to get any news of Whore-gina?"

Chuck pulled a face. "I've paid one of the serving boys to make some enquiries below." As if either of them would ever descend into third class themselves. "He didn't know anything about a Georgina Sparks - but apparently there's someone called Sarah Humphrey who fits her description. Traveling with a certain Daniel Humphrey - she claims he's her brother."

This earned a scoff; "That sounds like Georgina. She doesn't even have a brother." Blair paused, thoughtful. "I wonder how she managed to get this Daniel to go along with it? Do you think she's drugged him?"

Chuck had wondered the same thing. "Hopefully, with her usual lies." If Georgina had an actual accomplice, after all, the situation was worse than they'd thought. They exchanged a glance. They could only hope. "But that's all I could get," he added regretfully. "We still have no idea what she's up to."

"I'll get to one of the maids. They're likely to have more gossip."

Chuck nodded in agreement.

They came to a stop as they reached the end of the walkway, pausing by the railings. The breeze was surprisingly strong, and Blair was grateful for the bulk of Chuck's warmth, her hand still tucked inside the crook of his arm.

(And that was all it was, she reminded herself sternly. After all, if he was going to be generating all of this frustrating heat, she might as well put it to use).

"Blair," he said quietly, suddenly; "I need to tell you something."

For a second, she half paused, her eyes moving up to his.

"It's about Baizen."

Oh. Of course it was. She mentally kicked herself. Well, what else would it have been? Idiot. Stupid sea air. Being on the deck was clearly bad for her health.

He hadn't failed to notice the way she'd looked at him, though. He hesitated for a second, but she'd already perfected her neutral expression.

"What about him?" she asked, impatiently.

He'd decided he needed to tell her - he'd need her co-operation, and he knew she'd be highly unimpressed if it suddenly seemed like he was going along with their parents' plan. If she thought he was actually showing an interest, she'd probably go to Baizen just to spite him.

"He's trying to get back in with his family, and he wants to use you to do it." He wasn't going to tell her about the Bass Industries part, though, or Baizen's threats. "He thinks landing a Waldorf will help his chances."

She stiffened in disgust.

"I just thought I should warn you."

"Well...thank you."

"And it occurred to me that as long as you're with me, he won't have a hope of succeeding."

"He wouldn't anyway," she snapped. Chuck tried not to feel too pleased; he'd known as much anyway, hadn't he?

"So perhaps we should make the message as clear as possible."

"You mean...act like we agree with what our parent's want?" She gazed at him; and he was, for once, unsure of the expression in her eyes.

"Precisely."

"Very well."

He was surprised that she'd agreed so readily - he'd expected more of a struggle. If only because he knew she was loath to agree on _anything_ with him.

"So," he said, with the faintest, almost questioning smirk; "You don't mind acting like you adore me for the next five days?"

"I think I can survive five days," she replied coolly, "If it saves me a lifetime with Carter Baizen. Besides, I'd hate for you to feel like you weren't fulfilling Nate's last request."

Chuck paused. "Of course." His gaze skimmed out over the waves, away from her as he bit the inside of his mouth. "Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Blair was busy fixing her hair before dinner when she heard the knock at her door. She'd been making the most of a break from Eleanor - she'd seized upon the cunning plan of getting dressed while her mother was bathing, avoiding as much interference as possible.

She glanced up from the mirror; she was still in her white slip, curls spilling half loose over her shoulders. "Who is it?" she called.

"It's Eloise, miss."

Eloise. The maid she'd asked to get information on Georgina.

Hastily, Blair rose from her vanity, pulling a silk robe over her shoulders. She could still hear the taps running next door; perfect. She opened the door, standing aside to let the girl in.

"Well? What did you find?"

The girl paused, her eyes sliding to the door leading to Eleanor's room. "I can't tell you here," she whispered.

Blair's eyes narrowed with impatience; "What do you mean you can't tell me here? Just spit it out."

"Please, ma'am," her eyes were wide, afraid; "I could lose my job."

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Blair tossed a final glance back to the other door - the water was still running. She'd have time. "Come on, then, let's go outside."

She eased the door shut behind her, following the maid out to the open corridor. The first class rooms were designed so that they faced out to the ship's right side, reached by a wide walkway that was bordered on the other side by the ship's railing.

"Well?"

The maid shook her head, anxiously. "Further away."

She was already hurrying down the walkway; Blair reluctantly followed, growing increasingly annoyed. She would _not_ be paying this girl the full -

Where had she gone? Blair stopped, frowning. "Eloise?" she snapped. She moved forwards, nearing the corner, straining to see into the shadows. "This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself. "If that girl doesn't get-"

Her breath was cut off as something rammed into her back, propelling her forwards and into nothing.

* * *

Chuck was adjusting his bow tie when Bart appeared. His father's suit was already immaculate, of course. Chuck's gaze fell to the box in his hands."What's that?"

Bart paused, before holding it out to him. "It was your mother's."

Chuck's throat was suddenly dry; he took the box, swallowing, and opened it very slowly. Nestled inside was one of the most beautiful diamond necklaces he'd ever seen; he recognised it, all too well, from the portrait of his mother that hung in Bart's study.

He glanced up at his father. "Why are you..." Then it occurred to him. "You want me to give it to Blair."

Bart cleared his throat. "I understand Carter Baizen will be at this dinner? I think this should send a clear message."

Chuck felt sick. Not at the idea of giving Blair his mother's jewelry, though; at the idea of using it to stake his claim on her. But of course. How could he have forgotten - this was all a business deal to Bart. One big manipulation. Bribery with beautiful trinkets. That was exactly Bart's style. How had Chuck even let himself think otherwise? He_ knew_ his father.

"Father." His voice was low. "I can't give this to her."

Bart sighed. "Come on, Charles. I thought we'd moved past this childishness?"

"That's _mother's_ necklace," Chuck hissed. Because that was what made it ten times worse; Bart was willing to give away his _wife's_ jewelry to seal the deal.

Bart's eyes flashed. "I'm well aware of that. So _you_ should be aware just how much it means that I'm giving it to you."

Chuck shook his head in disbelief. "So I can use it to send a message to Carter Baizen?"

"In part, yes," Bart replied coldly. "Because if your recall, by doing so you're protecting her." His mouth flattened. "But mainly because it's about time you showed her how you feel."

Chuck stared up at his father. The denial had already started to build, automatic; "I've told you before, father, I don't feel anything for her. She's Nate's wife. I'm only doing this because he asked me to look after her, and because it's what you want."

"You can lie to yourself all you want, Charles," his father sighed. "But don't bother lying to me. I know you far too well." Chuck opened his mouth to protest, stunned, but Bart hadn't finished. "Now, I've given you the means to own up to it. So why don't you man up, for once, and go and prove to her that you're not a coward."

Chuck could only stare. Finally, finding his voice, he muttered; "You don't understand, father. That's not something she wants to hear. It never will be."

His father appraised him. "Then _make_ it something she wants to hear." He nodded at the door. "Go."

But his father _didn't _understand - this would change nothing. Bart really didn't understand just how much Blair hated him. He was half tempted to throw the box down and refuse; but he knew that wouldn't achieve anything.

So, glowering, box gripped in hand, he stalked out of the room.

Once outside, however, he hesitated. What was he supposed to do now? His father would be expecting to see Blair in the necklace at dinner. Then he realised - actually, he could outsmart him. All he had to do was explain it to her. (Not the part about his feelings, or lying to himself; obviously - just that Bart had _made_ him give her the necklace). The message to Carter - she'd agree to it. And Bart would never know.

He had no qualms about actually giving her the necklace, after all. Something that beautiful deserved to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty. (He refused to think about why, exactly, she was the only person he'd ever want to give something that precious to. That wasn't the point). And, knowing Blair's love of all things beautiful, she wouldn't complain either.

If presented with a love confession, on the other hand, she'd probably throw it to the bottom of the ocean.

And, with that thought in mind, he headed for her room, deciding to ignore that voice in his head screaming that he was a coward. The Basses' cabin was placed to the left of theirs; unbeknownst to Chuck, Blair had gone to the right.

Drawing himself upright, he knocked on the door.

* * *

She'd fallen between the gaps in the railings, arms shooting out and, in panic, just managing to seize one of the bars before she fell to the sea below. Which left her hanging, helpless, by just one hand. Her fingers clung to the bar as tightly as possible, but it was icy beneath her grip, cutting into her skin, and she was unable to pull herself up.

Her arm was already starting to ache from the unnatural position. She willed herself to hold on, ignoring the pain, but she didn't know how much longer she could support her own weight. She tried calling, pathetically; but there was no one around to hear her.

And it was so cold.

She still couldn't quite believe it; had the maid _pushed_ her? She should have picked up that something was wrong - but no; she'd not only followed the heinous girl, she hadn't even told anyone she was leaving the room. No one knew where she was.

She was so busy cursing all of it that she almost didn't hear the voice. Then it sounded again; a male calling something. She tried, in vain, to raise herself, wincing at the pain in her arm and yelling out for help as loudly as she could. (Blair Waldorf never did manual labour). It was no good - she'd just have to pray whoever it was came by this section of the walkway and saw her hand.

"Sarah?" The voice did at least sound like it was coming closer; "Sarah? Where are you?"

"Excuse me!" she shouted. "Can you help me?"

"Sarah?"

"Help!"

She heard a gasp of horror, and then looked up to see an alarmed face staring down at her.

"Miss! Are you all right?"

"Do I look like I'm all right?" she managed between ground teeth. "Can I get some help?"

"Hold on, I'll pull you up-" A strong hand wrapped around her arm, the other reaching for her other arm; she almost cried out in pain as she was hauled upwards, over the railing and back onto the safety of the ship - the man, thrown off by her weight, stumbled backwards - she landed on top of him in a heap.

* * *

"What do you mean she's not here?" Eleanor demanded.

Chuck had already searched the rooms; and now that he'd established she wasn't in the bathroom, either, he was starting to feel a prickle of unease. Her hairbrush was still on the vanity, and the dress she'd clearly been planning on wearing was laid on the bed.

"Where on earth has she got to?"

Chuck had already headed outside, though. He didn't know _how_ he knew - but something was wrong. He scanned the walkway in both directions; and then, at the other end, he heard a cry.

Heart thumping, he broke into a run.

* * *

Blair swiftly climbed to her feet - her legs were still a little shaky - and off the young man on the floor. He was poorly dressed, she noted, with dark, curly hair that could really have used a cut. Not exactly the ideal rescuer; but she supposed he had at least rescued her.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously now; if anything, he seemed more panicked than she'd been. "What happened to you?"

"Blair!"

He was cut off as someone charged at them; Blair turned, startled, and took in a slightly wild looking Chuck. She realised there was actual fear in his eyes as they moved over her, checking that she was safe. He seemed to calm, ever so slightly, once he'd established that she was.

"What's going on?" His eyes narrowed on the young man, rounding on him; "Who are you? What did you do to her?"

The young man suddenly seemed to realise quite how inappropriate this looked; he was alone in a first class corridor, where he clearly didn't belong, with a half dressed young woman. He swallowed as he took in the robe that had slipped off her shoulder, dark curls brushing the tiny slip underneath. Then he hastily tore his eyes away as he realised Chuck had followed his gaze and looked ready to murder him.

"What's going on?"

Eleanor had arrived on scene, accompanied by Bart and two custodians. Her eyes widened as she took in the state of her daughter; "Blair! What is the meaning of this?" Then her eyes flickered to young man; "And who are _you_?"

They were all looking at him with deep suspicion now.

"My name is Daniel Humphrey," he said hastily. "I just - I was coming to look for my - sister, and I heard a cry-"

"Mr. Humphrey saved me," Blair interjected; they'd be here all day with his stuttering.

Chuck's gaze shot to her in disbelief.

"I just stepped outside to take some air, and managed to lose my footing. Luckily, Mr. Humphrey came along and pulled me up."

She'd already decided it would be unwise to try explaining what had actually happened - at least until she found out herself. They were all looking between her and Humphrey in varying stages of incredulity now. Chuck most of all; her gaze slid to his, but he'd obviously worked out she needed to lie for now, so held his tongue.

Eleanor was not so retiscient. "You stepped outside to take some air in your _slip_?"

"And ended up here?" Bart added, frowning. His distrust was not leveled at Blair, however; he couldn't seem to decide whether this Humphrey or his own son was to blame.

Typical. What did Bart think he'd done, gone to give Blair the necklace and scared her down the corridor?

"Well," Blair responded haughtily, glaring at the custodians; "You seem to keep the rooms on this ship permanently overheated. Is it any wonder that I keep feeling faint?"

The younger custodian gaped, quickly fumbling; "Sorry, ma'am, we'll try-"

"But what were _you_ doing in first class?" the elder one interrupted, addressing Humphrey. Anything to take the pressure off themselves.

They all returned to the young man, taking in his poor attire. Dan flushed, sensing their judgement, and pulled himself up defensively.

"I told you, I was looking for my sister. I thought she'd come up here."

"And where is she now?" the custodian asked, skeptical.

Blair, however, suddenly exchanged a sharp glance with Chuck. Daniel Humphrey's sister. "Sarah?" she demanded. "That's the name I heard you calling, isn't it?"

"Yes," Humphrey said immediately, gratefully; relieved to have his story validated. "Sarah. I was calling her when I saw Miss..."

"Mrs Archibald," Blair filled in before anyone else could.

"Mrs. Archibald. But that's the only reason I came up here. And, as you can see, I still haven't found her - so I'll just be on my way-"

"Wait," Chuck called calmly; Blair nodded, briefly, at him - a look that no one else saw. "It seems we owe you thanks, Mr. Humphrey. After all, if you hadn't come along..."

"It was nothing," Humphrey said quickly; he really did want to get away from these people. The young man with the dark eyes in particular.

"No need to be modest," Chuck smiled - a smile that made Dan even more uneasy. "Truly, I think you deserve a token of our gratitude."

"Oh, that's really not nece-"

"How would you like to join us for dinner tonight?"

Humphrey froze. Even Bart glanced at Chuck, brow furrowing. Eleanor's eyebrows had almost disappeared.

"Dinner?"she enquired. "Charles, are you sure-"

"I think that's a wonderful idea," Blair chimed in. "It's the least we could do." She flashed a smile at Humphrey. "What do you say?"

"Well, I-"

"Excellent." Chuck clapped a hand on his shoulder (making a mental note to wash it afterwards; the cheapness of that jacket was surely infectious). "We'll see you at eight."

* * *

**A/N - I know, shameless stealing from Titanic. I couldn't resist. I have also discovered the 'horizontal ruler' button on this site...but let's breeze past my embarrassing lack of technological knowledge. **

**Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the story :) And I hope this chapter moved things forward a bit...**


	8. Chapter 8

Dan pulled uneasily at the tight collar of the tuxedo. This suit alone had to be worth ten times more than his entire wardrobe.

The older woman - who he assumed was Mrs. Archibald's mother - had suggested he change before the dinner, with a pointed look at his attire. She'd asked Charles - the intimidating one - to lend him a suit when Dan had explained that he only had the one. Why would he even need more?

He hadn't seen Chuck's stricken expression - give this urchin his _clothes_? - but had gathered that he wasn't exactly happy about it. Well, it wasn't like Dan was happy about it either. He didn't think he'd ever been more uncomfortable. It didn't help that the other man was ever so slightly shorter and broader shouldered than he was. Why did people pay so much money to feel like this?

He'd been so concerned with the suit and upcoming dinner that he'd almost forgotten about Sarah; she still hadn't showed up. There wasn't much he could do about it for now, though - he'd have to resume a proper search once the ordeal was over.

He concentrated on trying not trip over his own feet as he descended the stairwell into the dining room, convinced that every eye there was on him. (They weren't; there was nothing remarkable another man in a suit).

Chuck and Blair were waiting for him at the bottom, flanked side by side.

He couldn't help but notice the ease with which they wore their clothes - _they_ looked like they belonged in them. It struck him, too, how similar they looked; dark hair swept back, the violet of her dress picked up in the detail of his suit. For some reason, it intimidated Dan even more. They were like a matched set. Was this some code he didn't know about? A conspiracy to make him feel even more of an intruder?

Then she smiled at him, and he hastily banished the thought. Of course there was no conspiracy. He was letting his paranoia get the better of him. Remembering his manners, he moved forwards and took her hand; "Mrs. Archibald."

"I'm glad that you could make it, Mr. Humphrey," she said sweetly, letting him kiss her gloved fingers.

Mindful that the other man was watching them, Dan hastily extended his hand to him. "Mr. Archibald."

The man didn't take his hand, however - merely stared at him, lip curled in disgust. Dan paused. Well, he'd only been trying to be polite -

"That's not my husband," a cool female voice intervened.

Dan blinked in confusion, looking between the two of them - _not _her husband? Then who on earth -

"Chuck Bass," the man said curtly. He took Dan's hand this time, but there was no warmth in his shake.

"Right." Dan swallowed. "I'm so sorry, I assumed-"

"We know," Blair snapped; he blinked again. What had happened to the sweet girl who'd been smiling at him only moments before?

"Shall we sit down?"

And with that, the two of them swept away, leaving Dan to follow. He was about to move after them, dazed, when he heard a chuckle from behind. He glanced round to see the amused face of a large woman in a red dress.

"Quite the pair, aren't they?"

Dan shook his head. "I..."

"Don't worry about it," she reassured him. "That's the late Mrs. Archibald. Her husband was Nate Archibald, one of those big old money names. He died about a month ago."

Dan gaped, staring over at the pale brunette now being helped into her seat by _Chuck Bass_. "She's a widow?" he repeated, stunned. How awful.

"Her husband was a good man, too - so they say. He died in a fire. Rumor has it, he went back into the building to save a baby." She sighed regretfully; "Quite the hero."

Dan stopped. He'd thought the name Nate Archibald had sounded vaguely familiar - "Wait, a building in Brooklyn?"

"You read about it in the papers?"

"No, I...I lived in that building." He shook his head; "I knew that child's family."

"Really?" The woman glanced at him, intrigued. "Well, they owe Mr. Archibald a great deal."

"So," Dan collected his thoughts, following her gaze back to the couple at the table; "Then what's Mrs. Archibald's connection to Mr. Bass?"

She snorted. "Oh, they're old family friends. Apparently." Dan looked at her in confusion, and she chuckled again. "Come on, let's sit down before the looks start. Just stick with me, son."

* * *

"Why do _I _have to sit next to him?" Blair hissed, glancing back over her shoulder - Humphrey was, fortunately, occupied in conversation with the woman from last night. She turned her glare back to Chuck.

"Well, I'll be sitting across the table. At least you don't have to look directly at him."

"But I'll end up touching him - he probably eats with his elbows out!" she snapped. "And who knows what diseases he may have?"

Chuck rolled his eyes; "Poverty isn't infectious, Blair," he told her drily. "Thank god. Anyway, he's already scared of me. I doubt I'll get much out of him."

"Stop making excuses - you just don't want to have to be nice to him!" she accused, eyes narrowed. "And I don't think he particularly likes me, either."

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "Actually, I think he's quite taken with you."

She snorted. "And why's that?"

"After seeing you half dressed?" He continued to gaze at her, and she was suddenly aware of a look in his eyes; they lingered over her bare collar bone, traveling her skin. She felt a flush starting to rise as his dark gaze moved back to hers - she was imagining it, she _had _to be - and he went on, quietly; "I doubt he can think of anything else."

She swallowed; her mouth was suddenly dry.

But she was spared as Humphrey finally arrived - she tore her eyes, hastily, from Chuck's, and to the much safer (and non heat-inducing) sight of their closest link to Georgina. She winced; now that she was seated, she could see he was still wearing his scabby socks, protruding from the slightly too short trousers. And he'd brought that irritating woman on his other side. Ugh,_ and_ he scraped his chair.

_Focus. _She needed information, and she would get it.

Still, she had to bite her tongue not to stifle an actual groan - exchanging a look of furious dismay with Chuck - as Carter Baizen appeared, leer in place, and took the seat right next to Chuck.

* * *

"So, Mr. Humphrey. Why is it that you're traveling to London?"

Dan glanced up from the confusing array of cutlery with relief, immensely grateful that he didn't have to tackle the lobster just yet. (Were you supposed to eat the shell? That couldn't be right. Why did they serve such ridiculous, pretentious food?).

Blair was smiling at him again, and he was glad for that too. He still felt guilty for inadvertently reminding her of her husband; and he had the distinct impression that it was far safer to be in her good graces. She did have such a sweet smile, though - he must have imagined the hostility earlier.

"I'm going to see my sister."

Blair tossed a swift, unseen glance at Chuck. "Sarah?"

Dan paused. "No. My, uh, other sister. Jennifer. She and her husband live in England." Blair noted the slight grimace of distaste as he mentioned this husband, and stored it away. Not the fact that he didn't like his brother in-law - because, frankly, who cared - but that he had a poor poker face. Useful.

"So you and Sarah are visiting her? How sweet. The three of you must be very close."

Dan took a quick gulp his water. "Yes. Very close."

Sensing that he was getting uneasy, Blair toned it down a little. "It's lovely that you seem so protective of Jennifer."

Sure enough, his expression softened; "Well, I_ am_ her big brother."

"And Sarah? When was she born?"

Another gulp of water. Damn, his glass was almost empty. "Uh, she's...older."

Meanwhile, Carter had grown irritated with the sudden attention Blair was showering on this random nobody. That hadn't been part of the plan. So he fell back to what he did best; winding Chuck up. Hell, he had to get his entertainment from somewhere.

"So, it doesn't look like Blair is any closer to noticing you exist." His voice was low enough that only Chuck could hear him. Chuck pointedly ignored it, trying to concentrate on what Humphrey was saying. He would not rise to it -

"I hear she nearly took a fall this evening. Off the side of the ship."

Chuck's head snapped round. How the hell did _Baizen_ know that? "What-"

"I have my sources," Carter assured him lazily. "And I hear you weren't even there to save her. Quite a poor effort, don't you think?"

"I think you should shut your mouth, Baizen," Chuck replied between gritted teeth. He really didn't have time for this; he needed to help Blair interrogate Humphrey.

Carter shrugged. "It's just, if I were you, I'd be worried. You obviously can't keep an eye on her all the time. And this ship is hardly a safe place for young women to be wandering around, alone. Defenseless. Who knows what could happen?"

Chuck stared at him. He knew Carter was devious, but threatening actual harm? "If you seriously think you could lay one finger on her-"

"Have you spoken to your father yet?" Carter's tone was pleasant enough, but his eyes were hard with steely determination. He would get what he wanted. "All I'm saying is, perhaps if I feel a little safer regarding my future, Blair might feel safer about hers too. I think that's only fair."

Dan, in the mean time, had finally selected a tool to attempt the lobster with.

Blair watched as he grabbed the silver utensil the wrong way up, and bit back a groan of exasperation. _Honestly. _"Come here," she sighed. "Let me."

Dan flushed in self-righteous dignity. "I'm sure I can..."

"That's a snail fork."

He paused. "Oh."

Shaking her head, she deftly lifted the correct item of cutlery and began de-shelling the lobster.

"Thank you," he murmured; and she realised that there was genuine gratitude in his eyes. She was only saving herself from being sprayed with bits of shellfish. Still, if he thought she was nice, it could work in her favour.

"So, are you and your sister sharing a cabin?"

He stiffened again. "I, uh..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologised without a shred of sincerity; "I'm being terribly nosy. I was just curious as to the arrangements in...third class."

He nodded nervously. "Well, we felt it would be more appropriate to stay in separate cabins. She has a berth with a group of other girls."

"And does she look like you, your sister?"

"Sarah? Uh...she, well she has dark hair. Like me. Heh."

"And her eyes?"

"They're...blue." Blair regarded his hazel eyes without comment. "Well, Jenny has blonde hair," he said defensively. "I suppose you could say we're not all that similar."

He really was the most appalling liar.

"So is Sarah married?"

Dan may not have been accustomed to their style of life, but he wasn't a fool. He looked at Blair with a slight frown. "If you don't mind me asking, why are you so interested in Sarah?"

Blair glanced at him, and pursed her lips. Finally, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Humphrey."

He blinked. "What for?"

She sensed a faint line of panic underneath it, and schooled her face to stay blank. "It's just that..." She glanced, surreptitiously, to her right - Eleanor and Bart were too engaged in their own conversation to pay them any heed - and lowered her voice. "Well, I'm not entirely sure this sister of yours exists."

Dan opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed; "You claimed to be so desperate to find her that you went into a restricted area - and yet, she still hasn't materialized. And you seem decidedly uneasy when I ask you the simplest questions about her." She tilted her head; "I didn't want to say anything in front of the others - and I was so grateful to you for rescuing me - but are you sure you didn't just use a 'missing sister' as an excuse to get into first class?"

Dan shook his head insistently; "I swear to you, Sarah exists."

Blair just raised her eyebrows. "What's her middle name?"

"I..." Dan swallowed, realising he was beaten, and lowered his head. "All right, I haven't been entirely truthful. But I _was _looking for her - I wasn't lying about that."

Blair put on a wounded expression. "So what were you lying about?" Her eyes were wide. "How do I know I can trust anything you say?"

She did create the picture of vulnerability - pale face and soft curls - a poor young widow who had actually needed saving only hours before. If Dan had a weakness for anything, it was a damsel in distress.

"You _can_ trust me," he said firmly. He checked, cautiously, to either side - Chuck Bass appeared to be having a highly intense conversation with the gentleman next to him, which was a relief - Dan had already decided he was the last person he trusted. "The truth is, I am traveling with a young woman named Sarah. But she's not my sister."

Blair acted like this was a shock.

She listened as Humphrey told her the heartbreaking story of a young girl he'd met a few weeks ago, no family and not a penny to her name, squatting in the recently vacated rooms under his.

He sighed; "I just felt so awful for her. She has _no one_."

Oh, that sounded like Georgina all right. Manipulation and emotional blackmail. Blair glanced subtly to Chuck to see if he'd heard; and then she stopped, distracted. Chuck wasn't even_ listening - _all his attention was focused on Carter, and she recognised the tightness in his jaw and the grip on his glass. He was in danger of shattering it again. (She was amazed he hadn't broken more, given that tendency).

But before she could get his attention, Dan was carrying on -

Apparently he really did have a sister in England, Jenny, who'd married some cad called Damien - despite Humphrey's disapproval - and moved there with him; Humphrey hadn't seen for a year, and now he finally could.

Blair dragged her eyes away from Chuck (filtering out Humphrey's irrelevant family story, because, again, _who cared_) to ask, carefully -

"Well, since we're being completely honest with each other, Mr. Humphrey - do you mind my asking how you obtained the money for a ticket? It's just...well, I know these things are hardly cheap."

She was sure Georgina must have had a part in stealing those tickets, or something of the sort. But the funding had been a gift, it seemed - from a friend who'd known how much he wanted to visit his sister. She wasn't too sure how Georgina could have managed that one.

"I was very lucky - I hadn't thought I'd get passage so quickly, but there were apparently two last minute cancellations for this trip." Humhprey smiled, awkwardly; "So here I am."

"Here you are." She gave him a false smile in return. Two last minute cancellations. How incredibly convenient. "So, you decided to buy a ticket for this Sarah?"

"She has no parents," Humphrey explained. "She was abandoned in an orphanage as a small child." Blair had to repress a scoff - Georgina's parents were alive and well in Manhattan as they spoke. Unless, of course, Georgina had done something to them (which actually wouldn't be too hard to believe). She forced the thought away. "But she thinks she may have some relatives left in England."

"And you thought you'd help her. How generous of you."

Dan _wasn't_ a fool; he knew sarcasm when he heard it. "You think I'm being naive?"

Blair sighed. She may not have had any respect for this Humphrey - and he may have disgusted her - but it was clear he was clueless in all of this. And she wouldn't wish Georgina on anyone.

"If I were you...I'd just be careful. It sounds like you don't know too much about this Sarah. Which means you can't really trust her."

Dan glanced at her. "I don't know that much about you," he pointed out boldly.

Blair looked at him, and it was a look of sheer, withering condescension; one that drove out any delusions of _damsel in distress - _it was enough to make him want to burrow into the ground there and then.

"Precisely my point, Humphrey."

And her eyes flickered back to Chuck, in time to hear him growling, "...Will never happen. I swear to you."

She swallowed her curiosity to snap his name, bringing both his and Baizen's attention back to her. The blackness of both their gazes almost caught her again - what on earth had they been talking about?

Of course,_ then _Chuck remembered the whole reason they were supposed to be at this dinner, and immediately glanced between her and a dumb Humphrey, questioning. She rolled her eyes in response. _Later._

* * *

There wasn't much more information to get from Humphrey - other than that he'd hardly seen 'Sarah' since they'd boarded. Blair sensed that he was growing increasingly unnerved the more he spoke to her; he clearly couldn't wait to get away.

He was stumbling to his feet before they'd even finished clearing the coffee.

"Won't you join us in the lounge, Mr Humphrey?" Chuck asked - purely for his own entertainment, Blair knew.

Sure enough, Humphrey blanched; "Actually, I really need to be getting back." Blair and Chuck exchanged a glance of amusement. "But thank you for a, uh, lovely dinner." He started to scrape his chair back, and Blair rose at the same time.

"Good evening, Mr. Humphrey." She held out her hand and he took it - this time with far more care. Her gaze lighted on him. "Remember what I said."

He nodded, hurriedly, and stammered his final goodbyes before fleeing out of the dining room and to the safety of third class. Never again. He didn't care _how_ good that lobster had been.

When he got back to his cabin, however, it was to find Sarah already waiting for him.

"There you are. Where have you been?" she demanded, before he could ask her the same thing.

Well, he didn't even know where to begin. "It's a long story."

"Tell me now."

He blinked; that hadn't sounded like the shy Sarah he was used to. He glanced at her, noting a gleam in her eyes that he was sure he'd never seen before. Blair's words came back to him, inadvertently - how much _could_ he trust her?

Then she dropped her gaze; "I was just worried about you."

He shook himself mentally. He was imagining things. Clearly his time in first class had set him so on edge that he'd started doubting any innocent smile he saw. He _did _know Sarah. Enough.

And, sighing, he sat down to tell her all about his meeting with Mrs. Archibald and Mr. Bass. Sarah was such a good listener.

* * *

As they left the dining room, Blair felt a warm arm encircle her waist; she almost jumped, glancing up to see Chuck's dark eyes, the heat from his body brushing hers. For God's sake, why was she flushing _again?_

Then she realised, irritated, that Carter had followed them. Of course. Chuck had just been getting her away from him. She tried to ignore the squirming pleasure that his touch provided; she must have been colder than she'd realised. Cursed motherchucker and his hot body.

"Are you all right?" he murmured in her ear. Damnit, was he _trying_ to torture her with his breath? What was _wrong _with her tonight?

She realized he could probably feel her tension, and retorted, brittle; "Of course I am. Though I'd be a lot better if Carter wasn't hanging around like a bad smell."

His own gaze darkened.

She opened her mouth to ask _what_ exactly had happened at dinner, but Carter caught up with them before she could.

"Ladies room," she hissed in an undertone.

"Are you going to the lounge too?" Cater asked with a cold smile. He'd already insinuated himself onto Blair's other side. "Excellent."

* * *

Blair breathed a silent sigh of relief as Carter stood up to leave.

He and Chuck had been at each others' throats for the past half hour; the animosity in the lounge was now so thick it was a miracle there wasn't a_ pile_ of shattered scotch glasses on the floor. Even Bart and Eleanor had noticed; Eleanor, slightly taken aback.

At least Carter had finally had enough - Blair was surprised he'd stayed as long as did, especially faced with both a seething Chuck and Bart's icy demeanor. He'd certainly succeeded in winding Chuck up, anyway. Blair had found Baizen's hand on the back of her chair irritating, but it didn't provoke the same levels of anger it apparently did in him.

He knew she could handle Baizen, didn't he? In any case, she needed to calm him down and get an explanation. They had other developments to discuss.

"Please excuse me." She rose to her feet with a pointed look at Chuck. "I'm going to the ladies' room."

She strode out of the lounge and into the corridor, heading to said ladies' room to wait for him. He'd better hurry. As she rounded the corner, however, she was stopped as a hand caught her arm. She turned to find herself face to face with Carter Baizen.

Oh, great. What did he want now?

"Mr. Baizen." Her tone was cool. "I thought you'd gone back to your room."

He smiled, and she didn't miss the malicious edge to it. "Not quite."

She tried to brush past him; "Well, if you'll excuse me-"

"Hold on a moment."

She frowned; he'd caught her arm again, far too sharply for her liking. He shouldn't even be touching her. "Let me _go_, Mr. Baizen."

Carter smirked. "Now, there's no need to be rude." He still hadn't loosened his grip; "I just want to talk." He reached out his other hand, and, to her revulsion, stroked her cheek. His eyes were hard, a smirk still playing on his lips. "Now-"

"What the hell are you doing, Baizen?"

Blair had never been more relieved to hear Chuck's voice.

"Get off her."

Carter released her, still smirking, and Chuck shoved him aside to pull her away and into his hold. She gratefully allowed his arms to tighten around her, glad for as much distance from Carter as possible. But she suddenly realised it wasn't her who was shaking - it was him.

"If you come anywhere _near_ her again-"

"Calm down, Bass," Carter sighed. His eyes glinted with satisfaction at the other man's reaction; "I only wanted a quick word."

"Just stay away," Chuck snarled back. He was already pulling Blair away - ordinarily, she might have found such behavior offensive to her dignity, and made as much quite clear. But the murderous look in his eyes, and the fact that, in his arms, she could still feel him shaking - with rage? she wondered - stopped any objection.

And while she told herself that the shiver running down her spine was a reaction to how horrid Carter was, she couldn't deny the hidden, guilty (not to mention extremely inappropriate) pleasure that came from being pressed so close to Chuck's heat.

Thankfully, he was too focused on dragging her out of there to notice.

These irrational reactions really were getting out of control. But, she decided, there was a perfectly simple - if pathetic - explanation. She clearly hadn't been held by a man in far too long. (Held by anyone, in fact).

And she'd just been assaulted. Almost. It was perfectly acceptable to relax into the hold of the person who'd saved her. _That_ was a normal reaction. Even if the person was Chuck.

* * *

The sky was rich and dark outside, a heavy blanket of grey swathing the evening; inside, though, the room glowed with husky golden candlelight. Her head was thrown back on luxurious silk sheets, a burning heat spreading through the rest of her body as thunder rumbled into the darkness. Heat that stemmed from the searing lips that were working their way over her skin, hot and greedy and desperate.

She moaned in anguished pleasure at the heat - or perhaps the moan had come from him - a flickering candle flame shifting in and out of focus as the room was suddenly illuminated with lightning.

She was burning, all over, and nothing had ever felt more exquisite.

Dark eyes filled hers; the taste of scotch that blistered her throat and hands that scalded as they explored every inch of her body - surely her skin sizzled now, a blazing path branded from his touch.

It was so hot, and so delicious - and she was so _hot_, all over -

Blair woke with a jolt; sitting up, disorientated, to find herself tangled in the sheets and prickling all over with that same heat. It still _burned - _was she coming down with something, perhaps?

Something that manifested itself in delusional dreams about - _him. _What had happened to her usual sequence of dreams; the ones that matched scenes from each of her favourite plays? They were usually vivid, but mainly in their detail. Nothing like this intensity that was - well, all touch, and feel, and damned burning -

She threw the covers off, frustrated, and got to her feet. She'd never get back to sleep now. Not with so much tingling under the surface of her skin; not when she was still haunted by the fires of those eyes. She felt too hot to even cover herself with a robe; she tossed it aside, pacing the floor, and reached the door leading out to the corridor. With any luck the cold dawn would douse this infernal heat. Curse him. Curse him to hell.

And - of course.

Speak of the devil and he doth appear. Chuck was already outside; she recognised his profile instantly, back to her as he gazed out across the railings. She could tell from there that his shoulders were at least less rigid - he'd calmed down from earlier. Earlier, when he'd escorted (actually, more like _marched_) her back to her room without a single word, his eyes still black and his lips one tight line.

Drawing her breath, she half turned - maybe she could go back inside and he wouldn't even notice she was -

"Blair."

No, of course not.

Sighing, she turned back around to face him.

"Let me guess - you came out for some air?" His eyebrows were raised in wry exasperation.

She scowled. All right, maybe she _had_ used that excuse a few too many times. "I couldn't sleep," she admitted reluctantly.

Couldn't sleep because his hot mouth had been all over -

_Stop. Stop now. _She forced out the memory of the dream with every inch of her will. Otherwise, she wouldn't even have been able to look him in the eyes. She joined him at the railings; "And what are _you_ doing out here?"

He pulled a face. "Couldn't sleep either. Clearly, life at sea doesn't agree with me. I haven't had a decent night's sleep since we boarded this lump of metal." His nose wrinkled. "The movement must unsettle my stomach."

Blair paused, at that, because the ship was so large that they could barely _feel _any movement.

_I haven't slept. I feel sick. Like there's something in my stomach. Fluttering. _

She remembered the appalled bewilderment on his face, three years ago - after their first night - as he'd admitted it; an accusation. Like it was all her fault. And she couldn't help but glance at him again, now, wondering -

Those butterflies were long murdered. She shouldn't have to keep reminding herself of that.

He was silent, and she suddenly wished she'd put the stupid robe on. Not that she was cold, of course. Far from it. Her nightgown had long sleeves, and covered far more of her than her slips did - but it was still decidedly thin and low-necked. And it offered no protection from that penetrating gaze.

Her only defense was to look away from it - from him - glancing instead towards the horizon.

The sun was just beginning to rise; its rays filtered over the white muslin clinging to her body, making her skin almost translucent as it caught the twists of her curls. His eyes flickered down, away from the sight - or there was a danger he might just never stop staring - and to her slim white fingers wrapped around the rail.

He remembered something then, frowning; "You never did tell me what happened when you ran into Humphrey." (He was not about to refer to it as Humphrey's rescue). He arched an eyebrow; "You _lost your footing_?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously not." The mere idea of Blair Waldorf being stupid enough to accidentally fall through railings. "I received a visit from the maid I'd asked about Georgina," - she suddenly glowered, remembering that she had yet to find _Eloise -_ "Who I made the mistake of following down the walkway. She disappeared, and..." she hesitated. "I think someone pushed me." And she still couldn't be sure if that someone was the maid herself, or Georgina. But neither thought was exactly comforting.

"_Pushed?" Chuck's_ voice was suddenly sharp, all traces of mockery gone. She'd played it down so much that he hadn't realised; "You mean you were actually in danger?"

He was suddenly recalling Carter's words - _alone, defenseless - _plus the fact that Carter had even known about it to begin with -

Blair, however, suddenly narrowed her eyes. She didn't know why it irritated her so much; but it suddenly did, beyond belief. "I can take care of myself, Chuck." Her voice rose, heated; "I don't need you to look after me."

He glared at her in disbelief. Was she really going back there? "Oh, I can see that. You've only been attacked twice in one evening."

"Look," she hissed - and why, _why_ did it bother her much that Chuck clearly felt so _obligated_ to take care of her - "I understand that you want to keep your little promise to Nate-"

"This isn't about Nate!" Chuck actually shouted - and he was so intense, so furious, that she almost flinched. "This is about _you_, Blair. And your apparent inability to stay safe. Do you _enjoy_ terrifying me?"

Blair stared; _terrifying _him?

"Someone tried to _push_ you overboard. You were almost attacked-"

"By Carter?" she interrupted, snapping back. Her mind was still trying to wrap itself around the idea of_ Chuck_ being _scared_ for _her_, and that idea confused her so much that it only served to further fuel her frustration; "Chuck, he was just trying to get a reaction from you. That's all he ever wants - I was hardly in _danger_."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Chuck growled back. "You don't know how far he'll go-"

"What? To annoy you?"

"To get into Bass Industries," Chuck spat.

That may have made little sense to her, but she was beyond caring why Carter Baizen would want to work for Chuck's father.

"And why would he bother hurting _me_?" she demanded instead. Her eyes stayed fixed on his, refusing to let him escape. She was so close, now, that she could feel the heat of his breath as his chest rose, harsh.

"Because," he hissed; he was already trying to tear away, break the connection.

But Blair grabbed his sleeve, forcing him back to her. She was still seething; trembling, burning with a rage that she had no explanation for. "Because _what?"_

_"_Because that's the only thing that would hurt _me_."

They stared at each other.

Chuck was roiling with a mixture of fury at himself for admitting it, at her for making him; and fear - terror, underneath it all, that she'd leave now - and his hand suddenly caught the side of neck; trying to catch her, to keep her -

She froze at his touch, eyes wide, and he was convinced she'd push him off - slap him, maybe - and run away.

And she was burning; burning all over - the prickling, all consuming heat ready to explode, right from her centre.

And something changed in that flicker; between both of them, and they both saw it reflected, furious, in the other.

_Want._

He wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but his hand was suddenly dragging her closer, his other hand seizing her waist as her arms wrapped, tight, around his neck, her lips crashing into his.

And the heat was ten times more agonising, and a hundredfold more exquisite, than any dream.

* * *

**A/N Phew, now that really is my longest chapter yet. And it finally has some some C/B action in the present day :) Someone was kind enough to point out that I made the mistake of forgetting Dan Humphrey was apparently best man in the first chapter...that has been changed now! (To Tripp). Apologies for being so forgetful! **

**And thank you so much for continuing to review :) **


	9. Chapter 9

Their bodies were half collapsed together, forehead to forehead, flushed and drenched in sweat. His jacket lay discarded somewhere on the floor, and she couldn't even feel the rails pressed into her back as he lowered his head, burying it in her neck. His arms were still gripping her, one hand wrapped around bare waist under her night gown as their heartbeats slowed together.

_Too fast, too fast and much too slow, their bodies had collided; her heat pressed against his as her mouth attacked his, so hot and sweet and sharp and right and Blair - _

_He was pushing her, holding her, half forcing her backwards and into the railing; kissing her so hard he forgot to breathe - her fingers threaded through his hair, her nails pressing into his back as he gripped the curve of her shoulder blade to pull her even closer to him, fingers digging into her waist as she yanked at his collar. Their clothes were only getting in the way - too much fabric separating them - she reached for his jacket, tugging at the buttons as he pulled at the shoulder of her gown, moving it down to grant him access to the sweet skin of her collar bone - she fumbled with his trousers, hands grasping to slide under his shirt as he slid up her skirt, other hand fisting in her curls as her nails scraped his chest and he tasted her jaw, her neck, her lips - _

She closed her eyes, now, breathing in the tang of his musk. The sweat was already cooling on her body. She let a final shiver run through her as she reached across, hand burying in his hair; soft dark tufts under her fingers, brushing his scalp. She pulled at it, lifting his head away from her; his eyes raised to meet hers. They stared at each other in silence, and she gently pushed at his shoulder, disentangling herself from his arms.

He looked like he was about to say something - but she bit her lip before he could, and moved away; away from him completely, before turning and disappearing back into her room.

* * *

George was from a large family in New Jersey, and been training with the police force until he'd run out of funding. The opportunity to work as a custodian on the Olympic, while not as prestigious, had nonetheless been good pay. And it had overwhelmed him, to begin with - in his young life he'd never once been as close to such elegance; to people as rich, or as beautiful.

So when the intimidating Mr. Baizen, all smooth talk and subtly slipped dollar bills, had asked that he report back to him on a certain Chuck Bass, he'd been all too eager to obey. He'd taken shifts near the corridor where Mr. Bass was staying - which was how he'd been fortunate enough to be there for the incident with Mrs. Archibald and that Humphrey.

His superior had instructed him to keep closer vigilance since then - just in case any other third class class rats decided to sneak in. And it was as he was completing his twilight patrol that he caught two figures at the other end of the corridor. Right next to the Bass and Waldorf cabins. He'd frozen in the shadows, straining to see - but he was sure of it. The male was Mr. Bass, and the other one had to be the Waldorf heiress.

This should get him a good tip from Mr. Baizen.

* * *

Once in the darkness of her room, door locked behind her, she sat at her vanity with trembling legs. Exhausted. Chuck exhausted her. Every inch of her still felt aflame - tingling - her wrists and spine and neck and in between her thighs, right down to her toes. Brown eyes glowed back at her from the mirror; lips bruised, hair in disarray, cheeks still lightly heated. She raised a finger, slowly, to her lips, seared from his. She felt alive. And she knew exactly how long it had been since she'd felt this alive.

Because Nate's mouth had never _seared; _his fingers had never branded her in the same way - he'd never held or touched her with that much _need_ or _want_. No matter how much warmth she'd got from his arms and tender kisses, she'd never even come close to that heat. Which, she'd told herself, was a good thing. Play with fire and you got burnt, after all.

And it was then that her brain kicked into action, horrified - she was a widow of barely a month and she'd just had _sex_ with _Chuck_ in a _corridor_. Her mind berated her, furiously - what was wrong with her? If there had been even the slightest chance she might see Nate again, it was now completely gone. The plan had been a lifetime as a perfect wife, in the hopes of _some _redemption - but now she was going to straight to hell. For sure.

But, her half-awareness sung, it seemed that her body was still in revolt. Because even as she appalled at herself, mind screaming at her stupidity, her flaming skin right to her core was already aching to be burnt again.

* * *

Breakfast was painful, to say the least.

He'd been expecting avoidance and denial - she'd tried that for long enough after their first night, after all - another in the long list of things that _hadn't happened. _She'd had more opportunity to avoid him in the Hamptons, though. (At one point she'd tried flat out ignoring him). Not that it had deterred him for a second. And then, he'd had her confusion on his side - because though she knew how hard he pursued the things he wanted, she'd never been _wanted _that much before. By anyone.

But it was a lot harder to pretend _nothing_ had happened when that nothing was sitting across the table, and there were expectations for polite conversation to fulfill.

"Darling," Eleanor said pleasantly, out of the side of her mouth, "Why don't you go easy on those eggs, hmm?"

Blair glanced down and realised in alarm that her plate was almost empty - she'd been too focused on forking mouthful after mouthful to avoid looking across the table, determined not to meet his gaze. She hastily put her fork down. Then again, maybe if she got fat she might keep her legs closed in future.

"Charles, you must try more of these eggs," Eleanor coaxed; she elbowed her daughter. "Blair, give him your dish."

Blair paused, fixing her mother with a sweet smile. She couldn't look at him. "I'm sure Charles is fine-"

"You've had _enough_, dear."

Face burning, she picked up the silver serving dish. She had no choice now; she looked up, briefly, as she handed it over - his dark eyes were gazing right back, but she broke the connection before she could work out if they were taunting her.

Chuck watched as she busied herself with tea, and noticed with irritation that the serving dish she'd given him was barely half finished anyway. _Bravo, Eleanor._

Bart cleared his throat. "So, have you ladies got your costumes for the masquerade ball tomorrow night?"

Chuck glanced at him; had he noticed? It wasn't like his father was actually interested in costumes, after all. But whatever his reasons, he had at least diverted Eleanor's attention from her life's mission of putting her daughter off food altogether.

"Of course," Eleanor smiled; she'd had them tailored as soon as she'd received the ship's itinerary in the post. "Blair and I are greatly looking forward to it, aren't we?"

Well, of course her mother was looking forward to it; what better excuse to have Chuck and Blair dance together for the whole evening? She felt faint just thinking about it.

"Greatly," she agreed, voice weak.

Pressed against him, her hand in his -

She realized too late that she'd let her gaze lift, meeting his for just a second; she tore it away, forcing a gulp of tea. Actually, she decided, she was in hell already.

* * *

She'd never been more grateful for the plates to be cleared away; she jumped to her feet, looking at anywhere but him, and made a beeline for the exit. She wasn't about to let anyone stop her. She needed a distraction. No, not a distraction - she needed to get back to the more pressing matter. _Chuck_ was the distraction. Most definitely.

Once she'd obtained directions, she headed straight for the maid's quarters - trying not to wrinkle her nose at the low ceilings and smell of starch.

"Excuse me."

She got their attention straight away; all hasty curtsies and bobbing heads, and was presented with the head of housekeeping as soon as she demanded it.

"I'm looking for one of your staff. A maid called Eloise."

The other woman paused. "Eloise Fisher?"

Blair sighed - she didn't know her last name. "Is there more than one? Mousy hair, round face? Rather abnormally tall?"

"No, that's her." The woman looked decidedly uneasy now; "I'm very sorry, Miss Waldorf, was she in charge of turning down your bed? Because there should have been a replacement-"

"No," Blair said impatiently, "I just wanted a word with her." Then she frowned, registering what she'd said. "Wait, a replacement? Why?"

"Well...I'm afraid we're currently not sure where Eloise is."

"You mean she's missing?" Blair stared in incredulity; "How can you lose a whole person on a _ship_? She must be around here somewhere - have you not sent people to look?"

The maid rubbed her face anxiously. "Well, of course we have. But she didn't turn up for duty last night, and no one's seen her since. We can't really afford too many staff to spend time searching for her-"

"No," Blair snapped, "Of course not."

"We'll let you know as soon as we find her," she promised, nervous.

Well, that was a lot of help. "Make sure you do," Blair snarled, and swept off.

Perhaps she was being a little unreasonable - but breakfast was still ruining her mood, and there was something decidedly unsettling about this disappearance. Where on earth could the girl have got to? Blair couldn't stand not understanding; not knowing what was going on.

And there _was_ something going on.

* * *

"Hey. You."

George froze at the voice; he turned to find Chuck Bass, no less, regarding him.

"I was just thinking," he drawled, watching him carefully, "That yours is the only custodian's face I recognise - and it occurred to me. The reason I recognise it is because I've seen it so many times. On my corridor, outside my room - I've just watched you walk past it twice in the past five minutes alone."

George gulped. There was something terrifying about the gaze being leveled at him now. "I - don't know what you're t-talking about, sir - "

"I think you know exactly what I'm talking about." The man's voice was harder than flint. "Now, unless you've developed an unhealthy obsession with me, you're either casing for a theft, or someone has asked you to follow me. Which is it?"

"I - I don't-"

"You have ten seconds to tell me," Chuck said icily, "Before I call you superior and have you thrown off this ship."

George had started to sweat. "Thrown off?" he squeaked. "You c-can't-"

"I'm Chuck Bass. Believe me, I can." He narrowed his eyes. "Now tell me."

George was finding it hard to form coherent sentence at this point; "I - money; I have a family, I need to complete my training - just wanted me to tell him what you were - please, Mr. Bass, I only needed the money!"

Chuck could care less about his sniveling. "Who?" he demanded; though he'd already guessed. "Who's been paying you?"

"C-carter Baizen, sir."

Chuck pursed his lips. He'd been right, of course.

"Please, sir, you have to understand-"

"No," Chuck said quite calmly. "There is one thing that _you_ have to understand. If I see you on this corridor - and if you go anywhere near Baizen again, or say one word to him - and I'll find out, make no mistake - I will make sure you lose your job. And you can kiss your _family_ and your_ training_ goodbye." He arched an eyebrow; "You do realise I could have you arrested for this?"

George's eyes widened in terror. "No, please - I never meant-"

"Just stay away from Carter, and even further away from me. Is that clear?"

The custodian nodded fervently. "Crystal clear, sir."

_

* * *

_

She was kneeling in a pew, stained glass windows bathing her in a pool of blue light; head bowed, hands clasped and lips moving earnestly in prayer, eyes screwed shut. He knew he'd find her here. She probably wasn't even praying - trying to bargain her forgiveness from God, more likely. Promising to work together with him to erase the events of last night.

"Let me guess," he said, softly, moving to stand behind her. They were finally alone; he finally had her cornered in the dim emptiness of the chapel."It never happened."

She froze at his voice. _Goddamnit. _How did he always know how to find her? Although she supposed the chapel wasn't exactly unprecedented. Realising she had no choice now, she rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirts.

She managed to face him; managed to lift her eyes to meet his, chin set. No, she couldn't deny that it had happened. She'd learnt that one from him already.

"Last night," she answered quietly, instead, "Was a mistake."

His eyes bored back into hers. He had to agree with her, had to see that -

"Was it?" His voice was very low, almost raw. She searched his face, but the expression on it, in his eyes, was almost too much to take.

She swallowed, breaking his gaze. It _had _to be a mistake.

"Chuck," she said, almost desperately, at last; "This can never happen again."

He was silent.

She was _pleading_ with him.

He gazed at her, her shining eyes and pale face, and said, finally; "I know."

He knew that they couldn't let it happen again - because of Nate, but mainly because of them. Because it seemed that all they would end up doing, inevitably, was hurting each other. However much he wanted it.

He glanced down at her - and for a second, he thought he saw - disappointment? But then she schooled her face back into an unreadable mask.

"Look. We only have three more days of this." She swallowed again. "And then you'll be in London, and I'll be in Paris. So we just need to concentrate, now, on finding out what Georgina's up to. And making sure whatever it is doesn't happen."

Chuck nodded. "Right," he said distantly. His eyes were still burning into hers, though, and she had to look away.

"All right, then."

He cleared his throat. "I'll see you at lunch." He turned to go.

He was halfway to the door when she suddenly called out to him. "Chuck." He stopped, gazing at her. "Thank you." Her voice was little more than a whisper; and for what, even she wasn't sure. For last night, or for agreeing to act like it hadn't happened. Wasn't that what she wanted?

His head bowed slightly. "Any time," he murmured, quiet, an almost smirk curling at his mouth. It didn't meet his eyes, though; they continued to regard her, silently. Then he pulled away. "Have a good morning."

And she was left to watch, fingernails pressed into her hand, as he walked down the aisle and away from her, door swinging shut behind him.

* * *

"Blair."

Blair paused as she entered her apartments; her mother was sitting upright in an armchair, tea in her lap as she regarded her daughter. Something was wrong.

Automatically, Blair slid into the seat in front of her. "Mother? What is it?"

Eleanor's lips were pinched. She sighed. "I just had a rather worrying visit from Mr. Baizen."

Blair tried not to groan. "What did he want?"

"To tell me about some concerns he's had. He claimed that he'd seen you and Charles in a...compromising position. Last night."

Blair felt her blood run cold; there was no way Carter could have -

"That's not true," she said immediately. "He's lying."

Eleanor raised her eyebrows; but the look in her eyes was not one Blair immediately recognised. "Blair," she said stiffly. "You know how fond I am of Charles. And you know how much I've wanted the two of you to spend time together. I've seen the way he treats you - and he's never been anything short of charming or respectful." She hesitated. "However, I'm not unaware of his reputation." She looked at her daughter, and Blair suddenly realised that the expression on her face was - concern. "And obviously, Blair...If he's done anything to hurt you-"

"He hasn't," Blair insisted. "Mother, he hasn't done _anything _to me."

Eleanor was silent for a moment, inspecting her very carefully. "Are you quite sure? Because if he has, then he's not the person I thought he was. And I certainly wouldn't push that on you."

Blair was suddenly aware, dimly, that she finally had her escape route. Her mother was _telling_ her that she only had to say the word, and she'd never have to speak to a Bass again.

"Nothing happened," she said, quietly. "I swear to you, Chuck hasn't done anything." She lifted her gaze. "Carter only told you that because he wants our money. He wants Chuck out of the way so he has a chance of getting to it."

Eleanor bristled, immediately. "Well, he won't be getting one - I can tell you that much!" Had her mother actually_ listened _to her and believed her? "The cheek of it," she huffed. "Coming in here and making up false stories about poor Charles..." She gave her daughter a final glance, and her face softened a little. "I'm relieved, Blair. I don't know what I'd do if...well." She managed a smile. "It didn't. So it's fine." She got to her feet, resting a hand briefly on her daughter's head, lifting her chin. "Now, let's go and get ready for another awful hour with those ladies, shall we?"

* * *

Carter glanced up from his newspaper - _Bass' Bid for London - _at the knock on his door.

"Come in," he called idly. With any luck, it was that custodian with more information. There was no doubt Bass would find a way to wriggle out of a single misdemeanor - he needed several more.

The door swung open to reveal one of the last faces he ever thought he'd see.

"Well well," he said slowly, getting to his feet. "Georgina Sparks." He stared at her. "What are you doing here?"

She smirked back at him. "Oh, I heard you were on board. Thought I'd pay you a visit."

"And I suppose _your _being on board has nothing to do with a certain Bass and Waldorf?" he enquired drily. He knew Georgina. "What are you up to?"

"I could ask you the same question," she sighed. "Oh, wait - I already know." She gave a him a pitying look; "Trying to scare Chuckie into giving you a job in his daddy's company? You must be desperate, Baizen."

He pulled a sour face at her. "I'll get what I want."

"When?" she snorted. "Because it doesn't look to me like you're getting anywhere. Face it. Your attempts have been pathetic."

He glanced at her, at that. "So do you have a better idea?"

"As a matter of fact," she answered smugly, "I do." She moved closer, sliding round him to pick up his scotch bottle. She tilted it in her hands, inspecting the label. "The question is...how far are you willing to go?"

He leaned forwards and took the bottle off her. His eyes glinted, his voice flat. "As far as it takes."

* * *

**A/N Sorry that this is a shorter chapter! Next one will be longer, I promise...and one masquerade ball coming up :)**

**Thank you for all your lovely reviews! And to everyone who asked - don't worry. There will be no Dair. Romantically, anyway; though I am a fan of their love/hate friendship. **


	10. Chapter 10

Dan stopped, frowning, as he realised that the girl at the other end of the corridor was Sarah. He called her name, hurrying after her. He hadn't seen her - again - since yesterday. _Where_ did she keep disappearing to?

He just caught the end of her conversation - something about masks - with a man; one who didn't for a second look like he belonged in third class. Dan thought he recognised him, but he'd disappeared before he could remember where from.

Sarah turned to him, and he could've sworn he saw her roll her eyes. "Dan. What is it?"

He paused. "I was just wondering where you'd got to."

"I've been busy."

Now that he'd neared her, he was close enough to see that there was something strange about her eyes; they weren't entirely in focus. And there was a smell; something sweet that made his nose instantly wrinkle. A smell he'd never come into direct contact with, but had caught on occasion from the seedier buildings in his neighborhood.

His eyes widened. "Is that...opium?"

"What?" She pulled away from him, irritated. "No. Of course not."

But the smell was undeniable; "Yes," he said slowly, staring at her - "It is. I can smell it on your dress."

Her eyes narrowed on him, and he noticed a glitter in them that he'd never seen before. It sent an unexpected chill down his spine; he moved back, unconsciously.

"And what if it is?" There was something sinister about her voice; an edge of malice to it that didn't sound anything like the Sarah he knew.

He shook his head. "You can't be serious." Perhaps it was the effect of the drug talking? It had to be. "Sarah...you have to know how dangerous that is. Opium kills people. Not to mention how addictive-"

"Speaking from personal experience, are you?" she drawled. There was idle disdain written all over her face; she regarded him, lip curling with nasty amusement.

He took another step back. Who _was_ this person? "Sarah," he said, firmly, "You need help."

"What I need," she corrected, sneering, "Is for you to leave me alone."

"What?"

"You don't ever stop_ following_ me around, do you?" she groaned. "Getting in the way with your pathetic attempts to play the hero."

He stared at her, stunned; and he started to feel the first prickles of anger. She _couldn't_ be serious. "All I've done is try to help you-"

Sarah sighed condescendingly. "Yes, Dan, and you've helped me. I got the ticket I needed, and a suitable traveling companion. But that's all I need." She turned, dismissing him with a snort. "I have no further use for you"

Dan went still, fists clenching at his sides. "You used me." He couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to fall for it. The lying -

She actually laughed. "Oh, Daniel. You're so sickeningly naive." Her face taunted him. "Like a kicked puppy." She patted his cheek, and he flinched at her touch. Backed away from her, shaking his head.

"You're despicable."

She tilted her head, chuckling horribly again. How had he ever seen any innocence or kindness in those blue eyes? "Yes, I am. So do yourself a favour, and stay out of my way."

* * *

They'd managed to be unfailingly polite to each other; their parents should have been proud. Blair was all smiles, Chuck all bows - he'd offered to get her a drink, and she'd complimented him on his tails. They could be civil. They could do this. (Provided Chuck's lips didn't linger too long on her hand, or his hands too long after he'd tucked her chair in).

Blair had engrossed herself in talking to the socialite to her left - and her brother - throughout dinner. She was bored out of her mind. But it helped keep her resolution to not look at Chuck. And since the socialite was the awful Penelope, she could focus on retorting sweetly to the other girl's attempts at put downs, rather than on a certain pair of dark eyes. And her brother, Cameron, was nice enough - even if she'd hardly listened to a word he'd said.

Chuck watched as she laughed at yet another of Cameron's jokes, and felt it again; that flicker of anoyance. Was she _trying_ to provoke him? He'd agreed to do what she'd asked, hadn't he?

So why did she need to rub it in his face, now?

He could tell she wasn't remotely interested in anything this Cameron had to say, but it didn't stop her from keeping her gaze on him the entire meal, and apparently, laughing at his inane jokes. He'd just made one about the _partridge, _for God's sake. Poultry jokes? Perhaps it shouldn't have grated quite as much as it did, but it was like she was _trying_ to make him jealous. And for what - to torture him?

Well, two could play at that game.

He turned his gaze to the taller, darker brunette at her side. "So," he murmured, leaning across the table. "How are _you_ enjoying the partridge?"

Penelope smiled at him between slanted eyes. "Delicious," she replied, gazing back at his lips as she slowly licked her own.

Blair stiffened. What was he doing? And why was he doing it with _Penelope, _of all people?

Penelope's gaze flickered to Blair's empty plate; "It looks like Blair enjoyed it too," she smirked. (Actually, Blair's plate was empty because she hadn't had any - and Chuck knew that). "I didn't realise you had such a large appetite."

Chuck's eyes narrowed then, agenda temporarily forgotten - but before he could say anything, Blair had responded acidly, just for Penelope to hear; "Well, I wish I could say the same about your nose."

Chuck hid a snort at the expression on Penelope's face. But then Blair turned back to Cameron, and started to engage him in conversation once more.

He wanted a _reaction_. He wanted a hint of anything that suggested he could somehow affect her like she did him. Anything but that polite indifference - she could not ignore him. "I hope I'll see you at the masquerade," he addressed Penelope, this time not even glancing at Blair.

"I wouldn't miss it," she smirked back.

"Save me a dance?"

Blair tried very hard not to glower, suddenly overcome with the urge to stab her fork into Penelope's hand, which was currently fluttering at Chuck. The other girl practically leaned across her to murmur back, "Of course."

So much for Penelope's aversion to new money. Blair_ knew_ she'd been secretly desperate for some Bass attention. Well, Chuck was giving her that. She tried to glare at him, but he was either oblivious or ignoring her. She suspected the latter. Why was she even surprised? It was Chuck. Although, she decided spitefully, Penelope was low - even by his standards. She'd thought he at least had _some_ discrepancy.

Not that she cared. She shouldn't have cared. Except - except it hurt. It hurt her even more that she hadn't expected it; that she'd somehow thought, after last night -

It was callous, even for him.

Chuck shot a glance at Blair, and paused when he saw the expression on her face. He'd definitely got her attention - but he hadn't been prepared for the hurt in her eyes. Whatever reaction he'd wanted, he realised, it wasn't that one.

She caught him looking and sent back a look of disgust.

Bart had been watching, with increasing exasperation, as his son made a mess of the entire situation. He didn't know what was going on between them - but whatever the hell Chuck was playing at, he was being an idiot. Bart highly doubted Eleanor would be impressed when she noticed how heavily he was flirting with that other girl. Blair looked about ready to kill him.

"Charles," he intervened coolly. "Blair looks half frozen. Why don't you go and fetch her a shawl?"

His tone was pointed. Best to get his fool of a son away before he did any more damage; maybe the walk back to the cabins would clear his head.

Blair opened her mouth to refuse - she didn't know what Bart was talking about, since being cold was never a problem when she was around _him - _but Eleanor answered for her with a smile.

"How gallant, Charles. Thank you."

Clearly, Eleanor's impression of him as a gentleman had been reassured. _Now_ Blair regretted not telling her he'd done something - she would've liked to see quite how smarmy he was after Eleanor castrated him.

Penelope was _still _smirking at him - she hoped the whore gave him syphilis. Chuck, however, was no longer even looking at Penelope. His gaze stayed on Blair. Why had she looked hurt? She was the one who -

"Charles," Bart prompted in a warning undertone.

Stiffly, Chuck got to his feet. "Of course." Blair was still glowering back at him, chin set. "Anything for you."

* * *

The lounge of the Bass apartments connected through to the Waldorfs' by a latched door, which Chuck had been planning to use - but he came a halt as he saw something out of place. The front door to the Waldorfs' was open. He frowned; there was no way Eleanor would have forgotten to lock her door. Not with her clothes and jewelry inside.

Cautiously, he approached, pushing the door further open to enter. A maid wouldn't be cleaning this late. "Hello?" The room inside was dark; he felt for the switch, flooding it with light. And froze.

The room had been completely ravaged.

Dresses and pearls lay scattered all over the floor, the upholstery slashed and all of the drapery pulled clean off the walls. The little tables had been overturned and the lamps knocked down. Something crunched under Chuck's foot as he moved further into the wreckage; smashed glass. Tensed, his back prickling with unease, he eased open the door to the bedroom.

It was in a similar state; bedcovers torn off and the pillows ripped to shreds. There was even earth from the shattered plant pots smeared over the sheets. And the overwhelming scent of Blair, where her perfume bottle lay cracked on the floor.

It had all the deranged and mindless devastation of one person.

Then he noticed the mirror. There was a sizable fracture in it, a white scrap of material thrown over the edge - and, written in bright pink lipstick over the disjointed surface - a shade he'd never seen Blair wear - were the words _you're next._

And, as if he'd needed any more confirmation, scrawled underneath it - a large, curling _G._

He suddenly heard a noise behind him and spun round. The room was empty. Then a door creaked, somewhere; he moved swiftly back into the lounge - just in time to see the front door swing closed.

"Hey!"

He broke into a run, yanking the door open - there was a brief blur of red, a figure already disappearing down the darkened corridor. He raced after it, furiously, paying little heed to the corners he turned as he pounded through them. He realised, finally, that he'd lost it (or rather, _her_). He came to a stop, heart thumping, straining to see. There was no sign of her, though; she'd vanished.

The corridor was empty save for his breathing.

Then something brushed his back; he whirled round, wildly, grabbing whoever it was on instinct, ready to seize them - a pair of brown eyes, widened in alarm, stared up at him -

"Chuck! It's me."

Blair.

He stared back down at her, feeling his heartbeat return to normal. He was still gripping her arms; he loosened his hold, though he didn't let go.

"What are you doing here?"

Had she seen Georgina?

She was too distracted by the expression on his face to pull her wrists out of his hands, regarding him with still wide eyes.

"I - Eleanor sent me. They've already finished dinner."

(Actually, Eleanor hadn't sent her. Penelope had started to gather her things, clearly intending to leave, as soon as the meal was over - with a glance at Chuck's empty seat - and Blair had leapt to her feet before she could, telling them she'd go and check he wasn't having difficulties locating her shawl. Because, even though she should have left them to it, the thought of _Penelope_ going after him was almost too much to take).

"Right." Chuck realised, dimly, that he must have ended up in the corridor adjacent to the dining room. Blair was still staring at him.

"What were you doing?"

* * *

Chuck went in first - he wasn't taking chances this time, even if he _had_ apparently chased her out. He heard Blair's sudden intake of breath behind him. He reached out a hand to stop her, moving towards the bedroom. It was all clear, though - Blair stared round at it in horror.

Her eyes fell, too, to the mirror. But she went even closer to inspect it, lifting up the white material. It was a maid's apron.

Her breath suddenly caught. "Eloise."

Chuck glanced at her.

"The maid," she murmured. "The girl I asked for information on Georgina - the one who disappeared after I got pushed. She's been missing since that night." What had Georgina done to her? Her eyes met Chuck's, then flickered back to the words on the mirror. _You're next. _

Chuck followed them, and immediately shook his head. No. "She's just trying to scare us," he insisted softly, trying to calm the fear in her eyes. "It's Georgina. You know her flair for the dramatic." And this, surely, was the height of dramatic.

Blair, however, was gradually nearing the verge of hysteria - those were her clothes and her possessions ripped all over the floor, and that maid was still missing - and Chuck, Chuck the _idiot _had followed that lunatic into an empty corridor, which was exactly how she'd ended up being pushed - and if Chuck had -

"Well, she's done that!" Her voice had risen, almost uncontrollable; "Chuck, she was in our _rooms_! Why did you run after her? _Why_, when this room alone is proof that she's_ insane_?"

"Blair-"

"How could you be so stupid?" She was close to losing it, now; he caught her elbows, cutting her off.

"Blair." His voice was very low and firm. "Nothing's going to happen to you."

"I know nothing's going to happen to _me_," she snapped. "I'm not the one chasing madwomen." But she was, unconsciously, distracted by the warmth of his hands; the feel of them wrapped round her arms was already soothing her a little.

He stared at her. Then he glanced down, with an attempt at wryness - though he didn't quite meet her gaze; "Don't tell me you're concerned about my safety, now."

She looked back at him. "Of course I am." It was meant to be another snap, but her voice had somehow gone funny; it caught, instead, trembling slightly.

Their gazes locked, silence as they regarded each other; and Chuck's throat was suddenly too full to speak.

"What on _earth_ is going on?"

They both flinched at Eleanor's shriek - and then the woman herself appeared in the doorway, horrified. And as her appalled gaze landed on the two of them, so close; "Blair? Charles? What's the meaning of this?"

Blair hastily pulled herself away from Chuck. "We don't know, mother - Chuck found the room like this when he came to get-"

"What happened?"

She was cut off by Bart's arrival; he was considerably more collected than Eleanor, but even his impassive face registered shock as he surveyed the room. His eyes moved straight to his son. "Charles. Explain this."

Chuck exchanged a glance with Blair. "Someone broke in."

"Who?" Eleanor demanded. "Who would _do_ this?"

Chuck looked to his father again. At the infallible reassurance of his stern face and cold blue eyes; because they were out of their league, he realised. This had gone far enough already. But if Bart decided to do something, he would keep Georgina away. Because once Bart gave an order, it was carried out. His father would take care of it.

"We think it was a girl from third class." He addressed Bart, though his eyes slid to Blair's - "Sarah Humphrey."

Eleanor frowned. "And who's she?"

Bart glanced at the mirror and the words on it before glancing back at his son. "Let me guess," he sighed, eyebrows raised; "A scorned lover?"

Blair and Chuck exchanged another glance. "Something like that." Chuck stepped forwards. "Look, father. She's clearly deranged - she must be jealous of Blair, and she obviously means her harm."

Eleanor peered around the room, stopping at her daughter with a creased brow. "Well, if what she's done here is anything to go by."

"She needs to be stopped."

The best thing about all of this was that they wouldn't even need proof. Because as Sarah Humphrey, from third class, Georgina had no standing against four first class passengers. Especially if two of those were Bart Bass and Eleanor Waldorf.

Bart didn't hesitate. "Call the custodian."

* * *

Dan was stunned to learn the next morning that Sarah had been locked up. According the girls she'd been sharing with, four armed custodians had come into the cabin late that night, and escorted her off the premises. She'd been accused of breaking into and vandalizing the rooms of one of the first class passengers.

And Dan was even more amazed to learn that the particular passengers were none other than the Waldorfs. It was the strangest coincidence.

* * *

Blair understood the principle of going to morning tea. They were Waldorfs, and they would keep their heads up, not hide - people didn't tell Waldorfs who they were, they told them. It had been instilled into her enough times by her mother. But that didn't make the hour any more enjoyable. Particularly as Penelope was back with a vengeance, still simmering with resentment from last night and determined to be as spiteful as possible.

So it was with sheer relief that Blair set down her tea cup and got up to leave the claustrophobic room; she had to restrain herself from the temptation to elbow her way past the other ladies.

And, to her surprise, Chuck was waiting for her when she got out. He caught her eye, smiling, faintly, and made his way straight over - straight past Penelope - to hold out his arm.

She linked hers through it, glancing up at him. "You're in a good mood," she commented drily. Mainly to cover up the strange somersaults her stomach was doing as he guided her out onto the deck. Because there was something about Chuck's real smile that melted her insides.

She remembered when she'd first admitted to herself, secretly, that she could fall in love with that smile. (That she already had). They'd been in his car, on the way back from an event - Nate's excuse that time was that he'd been too tired to attend. Chuck had pulled her onto his lap, hands wrapping round her waist; and, giggling, she'd twined her arms round his neck and let him kiss a path over her shoulder, easing down the strap of her dress. She couldn't even remember what she'd said to make him laugh - all she remembered was straddling the solid heat of his body as he held her, gazing down into hazel eyes that were alight in the passing street lights; and that smile, transforming his whole face, as he looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

She was sure that couldn't have been the last time she'd seen his real smile; but, at the moment, it was the only one that stayed in her mind. Nearly three years ago.

And she couldn't help it; couldn't help the slight glow that spread because she'd seen it again, and it had been aimed at her and her alone.

"Well, I've just been down in the brig."

Her eyes whipped to his immediately, narrowing - but he cut her off before she could say anything. "Don't worry, there was no direct contact. I just wanted to make sure she really was locked up."

"And how did you achieve that?" she asked suspiciously.

He tried not to enjoy (too much) the fact that she was actually, genuinely, concerned for him. "I looked through a window," he assured her. "And it was definitely whore-gina."

Blair relaxed, a little. "Good."

"And how has your morning been?" he teased. He'd recognised all the signs of Waldorf tension as she'd left the room, written in every inch of her body. Which was why, when she'd looked up and seen him, he hadn't been able to contain a smile at the look of pleased surprise on her face.

And the truth was, he_ was _in a good mood; he wasn't sure if it was the removal of the Georgina threat - coupled with the reassurance of his father's handling - or what she'd said to him last night. Or perhaps it was as simple as strolling across the sunlit deck with her arm tucked in his.

"It could have been better," she answered darkly, thinking of Penelope. Then she remembered the expression on the other girl's face as Chuck had ignored her - he hadn't even noticed. She smiled silently.

"I'm sure the masquerade will turn it around," he mused. "All those dresses and costumes...just think; you can be as rude as you like, and no one will even know it's you."

She couldn't resist smirking, at that. But she couldn't stop herself - couldn't stop the faint edge of bitterness as she retorted, "And you can dance with as many girls as you like."

He glanced at her - surely that couldn't be jealousy on her face? He chuckled, low in his throat. She looked at him in surprise; he was gazing back at her with an expression that was half amused, and half something she couldn't quite read. They reached the far end of the deck, at the ship's prow, and gazed out over the waves for a moment in silence. Then he murmured, right in her ear; "Don't worry, all my dances are saved for you."

Her heart did that strange somersault thing again. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin; how did that simple sentence have the power to take hers away? She remembered herself, hastily, and managed to snap back, "I wasn't _worried._ You can dance with whomever you please."

Her eyes didn't match her mouth, though, and they both knew it. Smirking, he pulled her arm a little closer and led her back down the deck. He intended on dancing with _exactly_ who he pleased - and that was the glowering brunette (who was trying very hard not to smile) at his side.

* * *

George froze in alarm as he recognised Mr. Baizen striding towards him. Oh, no - that was not what he needed -

"George." The man's smile caught him in his tracks, despite its apparent amicability. "How have you been?"

"I - uh-"

The answer to that question was, in fact, awful. His superior had found out that he'd been slacking on the job - he hadn't been able to switch shifts, so had resorted to simply avoiding the Bass corridor whilst on duty - the night that the Waldorfs' cabin had been broken into. He felt bad enough that someone had slipped through because of him, but he'd now been demoted to staying below deck _and _told he'd have half his wages docked.

"I hear you had a run in with Mr. Bass." George's eyes widened with fear - but, to his surprise, the look in Mr. Baizen's was sympathetic. "Let me guess. He treated you like a piece of dirt on the floor."

George flushed, just remembering. "He threatened to have me thrown off the ship," he whispered.

Baizen shook his head. "That sounds just like him," he sighed. "He never changes. He's still exactly the same with me."

George blinked - "With _you_?"

"I'm from Queens," Carter explained wryly; George stared at him in amazement.

"But I thought you were-"

"From the Upper East Side? No, that's just them. I used to be even poorer than you are now. And Bass will never let me forget that." He shook his head again; "They treat anyone who's not from the same background like vermin. They'll step on any of us to get what they want - and Bass is the worst one of all. Just look at what he did to that poor Humphrey girl."

He had George absolutely hooked now - "The one who broke into the Waldorfs'? But she-"

Carter gave him a pitying look. "Broke in? You really think a _girl _did all that? Did they even have proof, other than Bass' word?"

"I don't understand. Why would he-"

"I know Sarah," Baizen sighed. "The truth is, we grew up in Queens together. She wouldn't tell me directly what happened, but...there was something between her and Mr. Bass. And, obviously, he doesn't want the Waldorfs to find out. It would ruin everything."

"So he just had her locked up?" George was horrified. "But then...who did destroy the room?"

Carter raised an eyebrow. "He probably did it himself."

George just gaped.

Carter leaned a little closer, his voice suddenly urgent. "Look, I came down here for a reason. I want to save Sarah." Before George could say anything, he went on; "I know you have a master key to all the rooms."

George automatically took a step back. "Mr. Baizen, I really can't..."

"I understand. I know what a difficult position it would put you in. But Sarah doesn't _have_ anyone else. She's all alone, trapped in that room, for a crime she didn't commit. If I can just get her out of there, then I can guarantee her safety. All Bass wants is her out of the way - and I can help her disappear." His eyes held the young custodian's, low and persuasive. "Please help me."

George was torn; "I'm sorry, Mr. Baizen. I really want to - but I could lose my job. I'd lose everything."

Carter pulled out an envelope. "What if I gave you this?" He held it in front of him, gaze unwavering. "One thousand dollars."

George felt faint just at the sound of the amount. "I couldn't-"

"I know what it's like to have nothing. I want to help you, George." He pushed the envelope into the other man's hands, cutting off his protests. "If you help me."

* * *

It took rounding one corridor for both of their good moods to suddenly evaporate. There was a couple coming up the walkway, clearly young and in love - with a baby clasped between them.

The baby started wailing and Blair flinched, without realising; Chuck, meanwhile, was trying hard not to look at it. He'd already glanced, taken in the little face and dark hair; his jaw clenched, unconsciously. The couple moved past them, disappearing round the corner - leaving them in an empty corridor that still echoed with the baby's cries.

Blair's arm was still in Chuck's, but it had gone slightly limp.

She cleared her throat and removed it. "Well, I'd better go and get ready for lunch."

It was ridiculous; that after all this time, the sight of a mere baby could do this to them.

But Chuck had to struggle to find his voice, and when he did, he barely even knew what he was saying. "I'll see you then." Not even what he wanted to say - but she'd already turned and fled. He stared after her, jaw still clenched, teeth ground together. That wasn't what he'd wanted to say at all.

* * *

Blair smoothed her dress over her hips, staring at her reflection in the mirror. It was a new mirror, thankfully - after a night in the Bass apartments, the wreckage of their room had been cleaned up, and the broken furniture replaced. Eleanor had been relieved - their masquerade costumes had managed to escape damage.

Blair's was a pure white creation, shot through with gold in a flowing mixture of lace and silk. A delicate gold mask completed the outfit, her dark curls pulled up with gold ribbon and studded with small white flowers. It had been the last costume she'd wanted to wear, standing in the dress shop only a few weeks after Nate's death. Too pure, too brilliant. She had to admit, though, that the overall effect was -

"Beautiful," Eleanor announced contentedly.

Blair turned, and realised, amazed, that her mother was looking at _her._

"You look beautiful, darling."

They both surveyed her reflection, and Blair couldn't prevent the light flush of pleasure. Her mother thought she looked beautiful. There was, for once, no criticism in Eleanor's eyes - just satisfaction. She lifted her daughter's chin, clasping her cheeks. "I don't think Charles will be able to keep his eyes off you."

Blair wasn't so convinced, given what had happened earlier today - but the thought was enough to light her up, even if she'd never have admitted it.

* * *

In the next room, Chuck drew a deep breath before knocking on his father's door. His dark hair was already slicked back, dressed in a jet black suit set with silver detail matching his silver mask.

Bart glanced at his son as he entered. "Charles?"

"Father." Chuck swallowed. "I just came to ask if...I could have mother's necklace."

After the Humphrey incident, Chuck had returned it to their rooms - since it had hardly been the time for presenting necklaces any more. His father hadn't said anything; and it had taken Chuck till the next day to realise that it had disappeared from the table he'd set it down on. Bart had obviously taken it back.

His father regarded him closely. "To give to Blair?"

Chuck wanted to give her something to make up for what he'd failed to say earlier. The truth was that he didn't really know _what_ he wanted to say; and he was still afraid, still afraid to tell her - but he wanted to show her. She needed to know. What he'd realised for himself when he'd seen the baby today; it had still hurt, an old ache - but he didn't want to see the pain in her eyes. He didn't know how to tell her that he'd forgiven her - but he wanted her to know.

He cleared his throat, though his face was set. Determined to prove himself. "Yes."

He studied Bart's face, almost afraid of what he'd see. There was a silence; Bart turned away. Chuck went rigid, closing his eyes. Why had he thought any different -

"Charles."

His eyes snapped open - Bart was holding out the box, a wry smile on his face.

Stunned, Chuck took it.

Bart rested a brief hand on his shoulder - the most physical contact he'd had with his son in years. "Don't mess it up." Chuck glanced up at him - but there was no disapproval in his eyes. His face was expressionless as ever, but his eyes told another story. They were - ever so faintly -_ smiling_ at him.

* * *

Blair was distracted from applying her final touches of make up by a knock on the door.

"Blair," her mother called from her room - she was still dressing.

"I'm going," Blair sighed. She adjusted her hair, rising to the front door. It couldn't be Bart and Chuck already - it wasn't even half seven yet. She pulled the door open, and came to a stop.

There, standing on the threshold, was Carter Baizen.

She opened her mouth to ask what, exactly, he was doing; but he stepped aside before she could make a sound, to reveal a pair of glittering blue eyes behind him. She froze.

Georgina smiled pleasantly.

"Hello, Blair."

* * *

**Thank you so much for all of your reviews! **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N So I humbly apologise for the annoying cliff hanger last chapter, AND how long it's taken for an update...not deliberate, I promise! It just took me slightly longer to write this chapter than I'd expected.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy - and thank you so much for all of your reviews! I promise the next chapter will be up much sooner. **

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* * *

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Blair stepped back in horror, but before she could react Carter Baizen had lunged at her, through the door, pinning her arms together and covering her mouth with his hand. She tried to struggle, but she'd lost her balance and he was too strong; he dragged her across the room and into her bedroom, Georgina following and locking the door behind them.

Blair fought, desperately - but then she went still as she saw the glint of a pistol in Georgina's hand. Georgina smiled, waving it at her. "That's it," she whispered. "You'd better behave." She nodded at Carter. "Get the dress off her."

Blair went rigid as Carter's hands descended, straining to get away, horrified -

And then Eleanor's voice called out, "Blair! _Will_ you get the door?"

Georgina glanced at her, pistol still aimed at her head. "Tell her you're busy," she hissed. Blair hesitated; snarling, Georgina pushed the cold metal against her temple. "Tell her."

She somehow found her voice. "I - I'm busy, mother."

There was a noise of Eleanor's indignation. "And you don't think I am?" Then a scoff; "Oh, for heaven's sake. All right, all right, I'm coming."

There must have been someone else knocking at the door, Blair realised - she heard it being opened, and then her heart twisted as she heard Chuck's voice.

"We're not ready yet, Charles."

"I actually wanted a word with Blair."

Blair froze. Georgina's eyes narrowed.

Eleanor's voice, dismissive; "She's in her room - try not to delay her too much. She's taking forever." Then the sound of another door closing - presumably the one to Eleanor's bedroom.

Blair closed her eyes, painfully; there was the inevitable knock on her door, and his voice, so close that it made her chest constrict. "Blair?"

Georgina and Carter exchanged a glance.

The handle turned - but it was locked, of course. "Blair, open the door. I need to talk to you."

Georgina seemed to reach a decision; she ordered Blair, voice a horrid breath in her ear, to tell him to wait.

She didn't have a choice.

"Just a moment, Chuck," she called weakly.

Georgina motioned to Carter, and he moved over silently behind the door. Cutting off any escape route. Georgina's nails pressed into Blair's arm; "I'm going to be under the bed. Where I'll have a clear shot of lover boy. So don't do anything stupid." She nudged Blair's head with the gun again. "Get rid of him." And she disappeared; but Blair could swear she could still see the gleam metal under the darkness of the bed frame.

Carter's eyes were still boring into her. She approached the door, shaking, and he unlocked it. She tried to stand in the doorway - to stop Chuck from entering. His dark eyes filled hers; she felt her legs, weak.

"What is it?" She willed her voice to stay normal, still trying to fill the frame as much as she could. "I'm busy, Chuck."

He glanced at her pale face - he couldn't help drinking in the white and gold clinging to her skin, but he was distracted by the look in her eyes. Was she still upset about earlier? He moved closer, pushing the door wider open, and caught her arm, gently guiding her back into her room.

"Chuck-"

The door, pushed back, concealed Carter - but only just.

"Chuck," she tried to snap, struggling to keep the fear out of her voice, "I really don't have time-"

She was cut off as he opened the box in his hands, breath catching at the dazzling gleam of diamonds. She stared at him.

He was still holding her arm, his voice soft. "It was my mother's." He swallowed, hard, but his gaze was steady. "I want you to have it."

He went to lift it out of the box and she attempted, dazed - because it had been his _mother's, _and she alone knew what that meant to him - "I couldn't-"

"Yes," he said firmly, quietly, "You can." He ignored her protests to fasten it around her neck, fingers brushing her nape and smoothing the jewels over her collar bone, hot against her soft skin.

She closed her eyes, feeling the searing sting of tears. "Chuck," she said, almost a whimper; because she could see Baizen in the shadows and Georgina and the pistol were right behind them -

He caught her arm again, lifting her face as he stared down at her, searching her eyes; he frowned. "What's wrong?" He'd seen something under her tears. He went to glance back to where he thought her eyes had flickered to; and, filled with instant fear - if he saw Carter, he'd react and Georgina would no doubt react faster - she caught his face, pulling it back to her and away from the door. And, fingers burying in his hair, she leaned up to him and kissed him desperately.

His mouth was so hot and hard against hers; she clung on, biting down on his lower lip as her tongue fought for dominance. And he kissed her back, hands sliding, hungrily, to her waist - but then he tugged her away, head pulling back. He stared down at her, fingers still digging into her waist, his breathing shallow. "What are you doing?"

There was something wrong.

His voice was intense, gaze burning through her. "Blair, what's going on?"

"I..." She could almost _feel _the point of the gun, aimed straight at him. She slid her hands up to the necklace, yanking at the clasp, forcing herself to look at him as she forced out; "I don't want it."

He stared at her; studied her. "What?"

She pulled it from her neck, feeling it burn her hand, and tried to push it back into his. "I can't accept this, Chuck." He gazed down at her, and it took every ounce of her strength to keep her face set. "I don't _want_ it," she managed again.

But his eyes refused to leave hers; as though he could somehow see straight down to her core - still searching - because something was wrong and he _knew _it -

"Blair!"

A highly irritated Eleanor appeared in the doorway. "Will you get a move on? I'm sorry, Charles, but we're going to be late."

Blair took the opportunity to push him out, practically shoving him to the door as she insisted she needed to finish getting ready.

She'd almost got him away, and into the safety of the other room, when he suddenly caught her wrist. She went to struggle, but he turned it over instead, firmly, and slid the necklace back into her hand, his fingers pressing hers for a second to make her hold on.

"I _want_ you to have it," he murmured, very low. He gave her one final glance. He didn't really have a choice; Eleanor was chomping on the bit in the other room, and Blair was set on him leaving. "I'll be waiting."

Then she closed the door, cutting him off completely; and she was left alone in the room, fingers curling uselessly around the diamonds.

Carter moved first, locking the door. He grabbed her again, and this time went straight to yanking open the fastenings on the back of her dress. She struggled to stop him; but then she felt the cold metal of the gun biting into her skin once more as Georgina hissed for him to hurry. They stripped her down to her underwear, so that she was left in a flimsy slip that barely covered her.

Carter glanced at her exposed skin, but his eyes were cold; he was more focused on the task at hand.

The task - which was helping Georgina into the dress. He took the pistol from her, keeping it on Blair as she watched, helpless, Georgina adjust the costume over herself. She'd even twisted her hair up in the same way Blair had. And then her long nails were digging into Blair's scalp, pulling her hair as she tugged out the ribbons and flowers, taking great pleasure in each yank that made the other girl wince.

Finally, to complete the effect, she put on the mask - and then there was a slim, pale brunette in the room who looked for all the world like the one who had just been there. Georgina surveyed the final result with satisfaction. She picked up Blair's perfume bottle, rubbing the scent into her wrists and neck.

"Tie her up."

Carter was already dragging Blair's arms behind her, wrapping a cord around them and pulling tight - and then Georgina's eyes flickered to her, and down to the necklace in her hand. Blair's fingers tightened over it immediately, but Georgina approached her with a gleam.

"Hand it over."

She tried to curl away, squeezing tight - "No."

Carter grabbed her arm, but Georgina pushed him aside. "Give it to me." Her nails wrapped around Blair's fingers, pressing into them as she forced them backwards, trying to bend them away from the jewels.

Blair choked a gasp at the pain, but she held on, gripping with all that she had because she would_ not_ let Georgina get her hands on it -

And then the world exploded in a rush of stars and dizzying pain; the butt of the pistol cracked down, slamming across her face and knocking her sideways, the necklace slipping from her fingers.

Georgina plucked it from her limp hand, blue eyes swimming in front of her. "I told you to behave." She lifted it to her own neck, securing it above the dress. "We wouldn't want to disappoint Chuckie, now, would we?"

She glanced at Carter, tossing him the gun. "Make sure you wait at least five minutes after we've left." Then she turned to Blair, one final time, and patted the cheek she'd just struck, paying no heed to the tenderness and the bruise that was already starting to spread - "And I'll see _you_ later."

She turned, mask in place, and disappeared though the door - out to Eleanor and Chuck - leaving Blair trapped in her bedroom with Carter.

* * *

Chuck glanced up as Blair finally emerged, stopping as he saw the necklace around her neck. He couldn't stop the sudden fluttering of his heart; she'd accepted it.

"_Finally_," Eleanor snapped.

Bart had come into the lounge too, to wait; he rose to his feet. "Shall we go?"

Blair moved forwards, and, to their surprise, linked her arm through Bart's. Eleanor looked quite pleased with this development; with any luck, this was a sign that her daughter was ready to accept that the Basses were going to be a part of their family. It certainly made a good impression.

Bart raised an eyebrow, but accepted her arm, escorting her to the door.

Chuck, however, stared after her. There was something odd - something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Chuck had spent years studying every detail of Blair Waldorf; he knew her like the back of his hand. And somehow, now, there was something - she was holding herself differently; or moving differently - he couldn't explain it, but there was _something_ -

"Are you coming?" Bart's tone was pointed; Eleanor looking at him expectantly.

Still glancing at Blair, he tied his own mask in place before holding his arm out to Eleanor. She smiled approvingly; "Thank you, Charles." She steered him out of the room after Bart. Chuck followed automatically, brow still furrowed as his eyes stayed on the brunette ahead of him, trying to work out what it was.

* * *

Once their voices had disappeared, and Blair realised they weren't coming back and she couldn't do anything about it, her eyes slid to Carter.

"Why are you doing this?" He ignored her, picking up the dress Georgina had been wearing and stuffing it into the wardrobe, out of sight. "What exactly are you gaining by working with _her_? You know she's unhinged-"

"She serves her purpose," Carter answered shortly, with a humorless smirk. He glanced at his watch, then to the door. They'd well and truly gone. He turned to Blair. She flinched, trying to move back as she suddenly saw the look in his eyes, the gun raised again - and then everything went black.

Carter pulled out some more cord and bound the unconscious girl's legs. He lifted her, throwing her carelessly over his shoulder, and headed out.

* * *

The lavish ballroom had been hung with swathes of silver and gold, glittering chandeliers dimmed to make room for the low glow of candles. Chuck watched Blair glide straight in, moving away from his father to lift a champagne glass from one of the waiters and down it. Eleanor's eyebrows arched, seeing the same thing. She released Chuck's arm to move after her daughter - clearly intending a word - but Blair had already disappeared into the crowd of dancers.

Frown deepening, Chuck went to follow her, masked faces and whirling ball gowns blocking his way - until, finally, he caught a glimpse of white - and he caught up with her just in time to see another young man, drawn to the slender vision of shimmering gold, ask her hand for a dance. Chuck didn't realise he'd been expecting her to refuse until she accepted, her hand sliding into his and her arm curling around his neck; Chuck could only stare as they whirled away.

What was she playing at?

* * *

Dan was cutting up a particularly gristly bit of chicken, half listening to the conversations on either side of him. He was still occupied with thoughts of Sarah, and just how well she'd managed to fool him.

The girl to his left was gushing about something in first class._ "..._And tonight they're throwing a masquerade, isn't that amazing...?"

Something suddenly picked at his memory, and he glanced up. "A masquerade?"

The girl looked round at him. "You know, a masked ball?"

Masks. He frowned. The conversation he'd overheard - had Sarah been talking about the masquerade? But it was a first class event. What was her obsession with going there? The masquerade, breaking into the Waldorfs' cabin; even the evening he'd found Blair. That had to be where she'd kept disappearing to - but why? In fact, the corridor he'd followed her onto that evening had been the Waldorfs' - he'd seen them go into the rooms when Chuck Bass got him a suit. Had Sarah been trying to break into the cabin even then?

But _why_? What did she have against them?

She didn't even know them - did she?

Blair had given no indication that she recognised the name Sarah Humphrey - but then; her questions about her at dinner - her warning - maybe they _did_ know each other. And thinking about the dinner suddenly made him realise where he'd recognised the man from - the one talking about masks. He'd been the gentleman sitting next to Chuck Bass; the gentleman who'd kept him so distracted with some kind of argument.

Whoever he was, he was clearly no friend of theirs - and he'd been with Sarah, who wasn't either. it just felt like too much of a coincidence. What had they been planning with the masks? What if it was some further sabotage?

He didn't owe them anything. Not Blair Archibald, and certainly not Chuck Bass. He didn't even _like_ them. But it occurred to him that while Sarah was locked up - that other man wasn't. If they _had _been planning something for the masquerade, he was still at liberty to carry it out.

And that thought troubled Dan.

* * *

Chuck watched between narrowed eyes as Blair danced with yet another man. She kept evading him; he'd caught only glimpses of her, twirling from dance partner to dance partner - and any time he'd got close, she'd slipped between his fingers, right into the mass of other masks.

Blair never twirled.

Her movements were an art; she never did anything, from the way she carried herself to her smallest gesture, without complete awareness; self conscious to the extreme the entire time anyone was watching. But there was something heedless about the way she moved now, languorously flitting through the ballroom._ That _was what was so out of place.

His view was blocked once more by another masked figure; he went to move past it, and it was only the hand that brushed his chest and the familiar voice purring his name that stopped him. Penelope. Great.

She was smiling seductively at him. "So...can I have my dance now?"

"No," he snapped, distracted, still trying to move out of her way. Blair was pressed right up close to this latest partner, both arms wrapped around him.

Penelope made a face; and, as she followed his gaze to the slender white figure, her expression darkened further. Since Chuck was looking at her, it could only be one person. "Well," she said sourly, trying to get at him; "Blair certainly seems to be enjoying my brother's company."

Chuck's brow tightened in realisation - he should have recognised that mop of hair. Cameron.

They spun past him again, just close enough for him to see Blair's fingers twined in that mop, Cameron's face mere millimeters from hers. And then the bile rushed to his throat, like he'd been kicked in the stomach, as he saw them again. Kissing. Blair had her arms curled around his neck, _kissing_ him, deeply, lips locked, in the middle of the ballroom.

Chuck hardly knew what he was doing anymore. Just that he was going to wring Cameron's neck. He strode across the floor, ignoring the other dancers and ignoring a desperate Penelope at his heels, headed straight for one figure in white. They were still at it, oblivious, when he arrived - but he soon put a stop to that, seizing Cameron's jacket and hauling him away.

Cameron had no idea what was going on. One minute he'd been dancing with this girl, the next her lips had suddenly been pressed against his, leaving him too stunned to protest - she'd held him too tightly to, anyway - and now he was headed towards the floor, winded, as a result of two violent hands grabbing him from behind. He stumbled, regaining his balance, and swung out blindly - what the hell was happening?

Chuck was struck by one of Cameron's flailing hands, and lunged again - he was going to_ kill_ the fool - and by this point, they were making such a scene that they'd hastily cleared a circle of dancers around them. One of the waiters had noticed, and, alarmed, was making his way over -

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, could you-"

But Cameron, reacting instinctively to the nervous tap on his shoulder, had swung his fist again, this time connecting with the poor waiter's nose.

And just like that, there were four custodians around them. They politely but firmly took hold of the two men, and started to march them to the exit. "If you'd like to come this way, sir."

Penelope shot a vindictive look at Blair, who was watching it all quite calmly; and, squaring her shoulders, went to follow the custodians - hoping to get to Chuck - but something suddenly grabbed her hair, yanking her backwards. She let out a little strangled cry, caught by her still trapped hair; and she turned round to see Blair, smirking, clutching a handful of dark tresses. Penelope's own hand instantly went to her head - the entire elaborate construction of curls and pins had been pulled out.

"You _bitch_!"

Blair merely flashed her another smirk and disappeared into the crowd once more. Penelope felt the mess of her hair again, and, with a little whimper, rushed to the ladies room, trying in vain to fix it as she ran.

* * *

Dan tried not to look too conspicuously awkward as he headed into first class again. The very last place he wanted to be. Luckily, most of the guards were occupied with security at the ball itself, and he managed to make his way through the corridor unheeded.

He came to a stop outside the grand doors to the ballroom, though, dithering out of the doorman's view. There was no way he'd get in. And he wasn't even sure what he was going to do once he was in there - somehow try to find the Waldorfs and Basses and...tell them a man they knew may possibly have been working with Sarah and might have said something about masks? It was sounding stupider and stupider, even in his own mind.

He ducked behind a pillar, panicking, as he suddenly realised someone was heading his way - but the other gentleman didn't even notice him; he was heading out, muttering indignantly to himself .

Dan sighed. There was no way -

"Look, you imbecile. I don't _care _what your policy is, or what your moronic supervisor said. You let me back in there this instant_, _or there will be serious consequences."

Dan recognised that voice. That icy growl. He looked up, moving closer -

"Do you even know who you're talking to?"

"Chuck." The name felt unfamiliar and out of place on his tongue, but Dan needed to get his attention. He tried to keep out of the doorman's sight still, hissing from the pillar. Chuck glanced up. His expression was one of pure wrath. Dan tried not to gulp, praying that he would listen. "Mr. Bass, I really need to speak with you."

"Can you not see that I'm busy?" Chuck snapped back. "Go bother someone else with that hideous suit."

Dan gritted his teeth, ignoring the insult. "Please," he said, more urgently - the doorman was peering round, frowning - "It's important. It's about Sarah."

"You finally figured out she's an insane bitch called Georgina Sparks? Your slowness is _not_ important, Humphrey; she's already locked up. Now, if you don't mind." He went to turn back to the doorman - Dan paused for a second, thrown by the name (and even more thrown by the fact that it sounded vaguely familiar, though he wasn't sure where from) - before he pulled himself together.

"No, that's not it. It's about the man you were sitting next to at dinner that time-"

Chuck paused. "Carter Baizen?" He was finally looking at Dan properly; he even moved away from the doorman. "What about him?"

"I think he's working with Sarah," Dan blurted - "And I'm not sure, but I overheard something about masks, and I thought it might have something to do with-"

Chuck had frozen completely, his mind now working overtime. "Masks?" he repeated slowly. He hadn't seen Baizen at all tonight, he realised. And, just like that, he turned straight back to the doorman. "You need to let me in. Now."

"Sir-"

"I'm Chuck Bass. Bart Bass' son. _Now_." Maybe it was the name; maybe it was the look in Chuck's eyes - or maybe it was the note he handed over - but, whichever it was, the doorman finally moved aside.

Dan went to follow, and was immediately stopped. "Who are you?"

"He's with me," Chuck snapped without a backwards glance - he was already heading back to the dance floor. Reluctantly, the doorman let Dan enter too - though not without the warning that he'd be _watching him_.

Chuck scanned the crowd, straining to make out a flash of white and gold - and there she was. Dancing with someone else. Twirling heedlessly, mindlessly; uncontrolled. His mind was reeling - how had they even managed it? But he was sure of it now, because he recognised those movements. That sinuous abandon. Georgina.

The wrong brunette.

_So_, an icy claw gripping his heart, _where the hell was Blair?_

_

* * *

_

Blair woke in darkness on a cold floor. The first thing she was aware of was the coldness of the hard ground beneath her; then, as she tried to lift her head - the pain. She winced, eyes automatically squeezing shut, and tried to hold still to stop the stabbing shooting through her skull. Her arms were stiff and sore, still pulled behind her back; and she couldn't even move her legs.

And she was cold. So cold.

She kept her eyes closed, breathing in deep to try and regain strength - and then she heard footsteps, and snapped them open again. Ignoring the pain, she tried in vain to sit up, straining to see in the dark.

"Don't bother."

Carter's voice. He finally came into her vision, blue eyes staring down at her impassively. "You're tied up, and the door's locked anyway." A glint in the darkness; the pistol - "You won't get further than a foot."

She stared up at him in silence - and he wished she wouldn't, since all he could see was brown eyes, wide with fear.

She looked too much like a little girl; too much like the little girl he'd seen grow up, if at a distance. He didn't have anything against Blair Waldorf personally. If anything, he'd almost respected her. She'd always been a part of that _four_ - he wasn't drawn to her like he'd been to Serena, and she was too smart and prickly to use like he had Nate. Which left her good for one thing; taunting Chuck.

Carter was no stranger to hurting people to get what he wanted - but never this deliberately, and never this far. Then again, the stakes had never been this high. He would do what he needed to.

"Where am I?" Her voice was quiet and hoarse, and perfectly clear in the silence - still a weak attempt at a demand.

"The hold." It wasn't like it would make a difference to her, anyway. And if he was talking, he didn't have time to think of Blair Waldorf (Archibald, whatever) as anything more than a tool to get what he wanted.

"Where's Georgina?"

"Still at the masquerade." His tone was humorless; "Don't worry, she'll be here soon."

Blair swallowed, but forced herself to ask without faltering, "What are you going to do to me?" She received no answer to that. She pushed aside the fear created by the ominous silence, and asked instead, again, "Why are you doing this?" Because it all seemed too far, even for Baizen. "Just because you want to work at Bass Industries? Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"_What_ reasons? You want to get back into your family? I'm sure there are better ways of getting money than working with Georgina Sparks to _kidnap_ someone-"

He snorted. "This is more than money." His eyes were flinty, even in the dark.

"What, then?"

He glanced at her. Well, it wasn't like telling her would change anything. He couldn't stand the goddamned waiting. The masquerade was hardly essential to the plan - if anything, it was a hindrance - but he knew Georgina. She wanted her fun; and he had to give it to her. Besides, if it was screwing with Bass' head then he couldn't really complain. But he hadn't really factored in the part where he'd be sitting in one of the ship's fucking freezing holds with only an unconscious girl for company.

And maybe somewhere in that tiny part of him that resembled a conscience, he wanted to explain; an explanation to that girl he'd grown up with for what he knew was about to happen.

"I'm in trouble," he sighed drily. "Turns out I got involved with the wrong people in Los Angeles." Los Angeles - a city well on the rise and the perfect haven for gamblers. And, unfortunately, some of the more dangerous 'families'. "There's a price on my head. And it's not going to go away, no matter how far I run." Blair stared at him. "My family are my only chance of protection." He grimaced. "But, since I also managed to piss off daddy Baizen by cutting loose...I have to _prove myself_ first." Another snort; "So much for the prodigal son, huh?"

"And the only way you can prove yourself is by working for Bass Industries?"

Carter shrugged. "My father's not a complete fool. He's seen how much money Bart's managed to get his hands on in the past few decades. He wants in, and he figures this venture in London is the perfect way. But obviously, he has his own business to run...which is why he needs me." He cast another glance at Blair. "Except he's too obstinate to realise that big bad Bart, thanks to your lover boy, was never going to hire me."

Blair continued to stare. "I still fail to see how knocking me out and tying me up in a garage is going to change any of that."

Carter just looked at her, like she was an idiot. "I took the liberty of drawing up a contract. Stating that Bass Industries will hire me for the next five years - non-negotiable."

This earned him a scoff. "Chuck will never sign that."

Carter looked at her again, head to toe, and this time his eyes were completely cold. "We'll see."

* * *

Chuck's entire body was tensed, his heart racing. He couldn't just charge up to her and demand to know what she'd done to Blair - not with all the custodians watching him now. He'd be escorted out before he even got a chance. He tried to keep calm, his eyes never leaving Georgina - as long as he kept her within eyesight. He'd have to approach her, just as calmly, and somehow get her out of the ballroom.

"So...what are we doing?" God, would Humphrey let him forget his irritating presence for just a second? "Shouldn't we try to find Mrs. Archibald?" Then, following Chuck's gaze to the masked brunette - "Is that her there?"

"No," Chuck growled, "That's Georgina."

Dan frowned - _why_ was that name so familiar? "So, let me get this straight. Sarah is really called Georgina...Sparks?"

"Georgina," Chuck answered absently, still watching her, "Satan, psychopath. Whatever you want to call her. It." She'd moved on to yet another dance partner now; if he could somehow move close enough to -

Dan, meanwhile, had suddenly twigged something. A pair of blue eyes, frantic with fear - _You don't understand, Dan. Georgina Sparks is a psychopath. __That _was where he recognised the name from.

"But _how_...?"

"It's not that hard to change your name, Humphrey," Chuck snarled, beyond frustration. Why were there so many damn people in this ballroom?

But Humphrey was babbling on about something else now, something about a friend who'd warned him about a Georgina Sparks; "But I just don't understand how she would have known her too-"

"Who?" Chuck snapped.

"Savannah. She's...I mean, she _was_...a friend."

Chuck stopped abruptly. He actually looked at Dan, though he kept an eye on Georgina to make sure she didn't disappear.

"Savannah?" he repeated, slow. Someone who knew Georgina? Someone who'd warned Humphrey about her before he'd even boarded the ship?

"Savannah Smith. She - well, she used to live the floor below me..."

_They'd snuck out of their parents' event to the room upstairs. Blair was sitting, glowering in a corner, while Serena spun around the room, captivating an already enchanted Nate and drunk beyond all appropriateness on the Captain's malt, with her new friend. A friend that Chuck refused to come within three feet of (that one awful night had been more than enough); he dropped down next to Blair, scotch glass in hand. _

_"Don't worry," he said idly, "She'll get bored of her new toy soon."_

_"I'm not worried," was his cross response. He did love angry Blair. She continued to glower; "After all, Svetlana is such fun."_

_"Svetlana?" Even at that young age, he'd had enough experience of Georgina Sparks to know about her penchant for multiple personas. Svetlana was particularly bad, though. _

_She continued to glare at the intoxicated blonde and her new dark companion. "Apparently they're Svetlana and Savannah." Only she could spit names with that much venom. _

And he'd heard it enough times in the years that followed; Serena couldn't be held responsible for drinking that much, or going into that opium den, or falling all over that gentleman - it was all Savannah.

"Blonde hair?" he asked Humphrey now; "And, let me guess - you're in love with her?"

Humphrey gaped, and hastily scrambled to collect himself; "Well, I wouldn't say I was-"

Chuck could see it all over the fool's face. There was only one blonde he knew who left men that star-struck. And _Smith_? That could only have been Serena.

"You lived the floor above her?" he confirmed, wondering - though his eyes were still on Georgina. She'd moved one person closer. He had to be ready. "And she had a child?"

"Yes, but how do you-" Dan suddenly paused. "Nathaniel Archibald. Is that how you know her?"

His best friend's name almost threw Chuck completely. How the hell did _Humphrey_ know him?

"I - it's just that I found out at dinner - you know, Mrs. Archibald - and, well, I'd heard of him because he was the one who saved Savannah's daughter from the fire." Dan leaned forwards, suddenly full of hope; "So did she come to you afterwards? Savannah? She disappeared after all of it, and I haven't seen her since-"

Chuck's head was now spinning - but his awareness registered, at the same time, that Georgina had finally reached a gap in dancing partners. Shoving aside the bewildering revelations, he forced his attention back the task on hand - _Blair_ - and swiftly moved in to take Georgina's hand for the next dance.

Georgina looked up at him, smiling lasciviously - and no wonder she'd been avoiding him all night, because the feel of one hand in his and the other on his shoulder made his skin crawl. There was no way he would ever have mistaken her for Blair.

He made himself hold on, though, pushing through the steps to the music. And his grip was like iron as he hissed, "What have you done to her?"

Georgina simply smirked up at him, blue eyes glittering even through the mask, her own nails pressed into his jacket. "Took you long enough, Chuckie. You're getting slow."

"Tell me where she is."

She met his gaze lazily, moving her own face into his furious glare - and then her sharp nails were suddenly clawing his scalp instead as she forced her lips on his. And it turned his stomach, because she _smelt _of Blair, or a trace of her, with a hint of something foul that was only Georgina, cloying it; and she tasted as sickly sweet as he remembered from that one night, perhaps even more sickly now from opium - and her sharp, disgusting tongue was forcing its way in - he managed to yank his head away, stumbling backwards as he pushed her off.

He heard a scandalized gasp; and he turned in time to see Eleanor staring at them, appalled - and _of course _she'd seen this, and not the kiss with Cameron - and when he turned back, Georgina was already slipping away.

He sprang into action, diving after her - but the dancers were in his way again, and she slid through them and was already at the door -

Dan had been left, highly confused, at the sidelines; but he acted now - seeing Georgina flee the ballroom, hotly pursued by Chuck - and hurried after them.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Just a warning - there is some violence in this chapter. Thank you for all your lovely reviews! And there's still a bit to go; I won't be ending when (or if...!) anyone gets rescued.**

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* * *

**

Chuck barely noticed Humphrey following him, so set on the gleam of white ahead. This time, she wasn't going to get away. He dove around another corner, coming to a stop as he saw the corridor split into two. He cursed under his breath - which one had she gone down?

Dan slammed to a stop behind, only just avoiding barreling straight into him. "What's going on?" he panted. "Why are we-"

"She has Blair," Chuck snarled; Dan blinked.

"She - what?"

Chuck ignored him - they didn't have _time_ for this. "Look," he snapped, "You take the left, I'll go down the right. And if you catch her, _stop_ her." He'd already started down his corridor; Dan was about to ask exactly _how_ he was supposed to stop her -

"Go!" Chuck threw, furiously, over his shoulder; Dan hurriedly snapped into action and headed down the left corridor. Whatever Sarah - or, Georgina, apparently - was up to, it was clearly serious. And, judging from the look in Chuck's eyes, he didn't really want to think what _she has Blair _could mean.

The corridor was a long one, he realised as he jogged down it, and it seemed to slope downwards; he finally turned another corner and was met with a steep set of iron stairs. He paused at the top of them. Would she have gone down there or carried on down the corridor? He was still dithering when Georgina stepped out of the alcove she'd been hiding in and pushed him, hard, from behind. He cried out in alarm and toppled, losing his balance - there was a crash as he fell down the flight of stairs, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom.

Georgina gazed down at his motionless figure with a smirk. "I told you to stop following me, Humphrey." Her eyes sparkled in the dim light with an almost manic glint.

Then she turned; she had bigger fish to fry. Namely a Bass.

* * *

Chuck growled in frustration as his hand struck the locked door again; the corridor led to the boiler room, which was off limits to passengers. Would Georgina have been able to get in? He wouldn't have put it past her - but he had no way of entering now. The door was barred. Unless he went back and fetched a custodian -

"Oh, Chuckie?"

He spun round at the voice, just catching a flash of white. She was like a damn phantom; she'd probably planned it that way. He broke into a sprint, aware that she had a head start. How the hell had she managed to get behind him?

He raced back down the corridor, back to the junction and along the left corridor instead - he reached the same stairwell Humphrey had, but this time just caught her as she whirled down the steps; he thundered down them after her, dimly registering Humphrey's unconscious form, but aware that he had no time to stop and check -

And then there was another sharp turn in the corridor, and another stairwell to descend, and he finally saw her disappear through a large door at the end.

He caught it before it shut; but was forced to come to a stop as he entered the room, which was almost pitch black. The door clanged to a close behind him, taking away even the light from the corridor. He could barely see in front of him. His eyes strained to accustom to the darkness, moving more cautiously now, further in.

He could just about make out the gleam of metal, curving forms - automobiles, he realised. He was in the ship's hold.

"Georgina," he called, dangerously, into the dark. "Stop hiding. No more games; come out." He slid forwards, stepping around the bulk of yet more vehicles. Then, as he moved past another, he made out a figure on the floor; a sliver of pale skin, dark curls, wide brown eyes in the dark -

"_Blair_."

His breath caught as he lurched towards her, caution forgotten as he reached for her, falling to his knees to catch her shoulders, pull her towards him. He could feel how cold she was, but it was Blair, soft and breathing and alive. And there was relief and fear and panic in her eyes all at once; she couldn't stop the relief at his dark eyes, the heat of his hands. But she was shaking her head, desperately, with a hiss of his name, trying to tell him -

"Move away, Bass."

He turned, form moving instinctively to cover hers, grip tightening round her shoulders - but there was no blocking the pistol pointed directly at her.

Carter Baizen stared down at them coldly. "Stand up." Chuck didn't move, still holding her. "Get up, Bass, or I'll shoot her."

Chuck's lip curled. "Murder? Really? Even you're not that stupid, Baizen."

But Carter's face registered no emotion. His eyes stayed set. "But I am that desperate. Now get away from her." He cocked the gun.

Chuck's gaze fell on Blair's; she shook her head, silently. He climbed slowly to his feet, moving away, though his eyes never left hers.

"Good boy, Chuckie."

Georgina's contented purr sounded as she slithered out of the darkness. "Let's hope you stay this co-operative." She advanced on Blair; Chuck moved before he could stop himself, and there was a noise of warning from Carter as he aimed the pistol closer. Fists clenched, Chuck was forced to stay where he was.

Georgina's nails pressed into Blair's bare arm, but it was her hair that she seized, dragging her up with a handful of brown waves. Blair managed not to cry aloud, flinching at the pain as Georgina's nails dug harder and she was forced upright, still unable to stand by herself. Georgina smiled in satisfaction; she hadn't even started.

Hand still grasping Blair's curls, she wrapped her other arm around the girl's neck. Blair tried to wriggle, slightly, and she tightened her arm, pressing Blair's windpipe till her breathing caught and she started to choke -

"Stop it," Chuck growled, almost a cry in his own throat. Georgina ignored him, squeezing tighter; and he shouted this time - "Stop!"

She smirked and nonchalantly loosened her grip - but only enough to let air fill Blair's lungs again. She still held her. "But we've only just started to play, Chuckie." She smiled at him as she yanked Blair's head back even further, almost ripping the hair out at the roots. "In fact, I've got an idea. How about a game of uncle?"

She disentangled her nails from Blair's hair to catch her arm, wrapping her fingers tightly round it; and she started twisting. Her expression was quite calm - pleased, even - as she surveyed Chuck. She twisted Blair's wrist right round in the cord binding it, jerking it behind her back in an unnatural position; Blair bit her lip, forcing herself to stay silent. Her face was white while Georgina twisted further and further - and as her arm looked set to snap, her eyes filled with water against her own will -

"_Stop it,_" Chuck hissed, furiously - furious because he couldn't _do_ anything, and the look in Blair's eyes - "Just _stop_. What do you want?"

Georgina paid him no heed and continued to force Blair's arm out of place. "That's not the magic word, Chuckie." Blair's eyes were squeezed shut now as she fought not to cry aloud. "Come on, play by the rules."

"Uncle," he snarled; "Uncle - just let her go!"

There was a sickening _pop. _Blair couldn't stop the muffled whimper of pain this time; she'd dislocated her shoulder. Georgina smiled widely and released her arm. "Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?" She dropped Blair to the floor, and it took every inch of Chuck's willpower not to get to her as she landed, gasping, trying to curl her body around her injured arm.

The pistol never left her for a second, though.

He lifted his glare to Georgina, hating every inch of those sickening blue eyes and delighted leer. "What do you want?" he ground out again.

"I think you already know the answer to that, Bass." Carter spoke up now, moving closer. "I've told you enough times."

Chuck gritted his teeth. "You will never work for my father's company, Baizen."

"No?" Carter arched an eyebrow and, moving even closer, nudged Blair hard with his shoe - forcing himself to ignore her flinch - and pointed the gun straight down at her. "Exactly how determined are you?"

The gun was the only thing keeping Chuck in his place as he spat, desperately, at last, "All _this_? For a job?" He actually stared at Carter; eyes boring into him because he _couldn't_ be serious -

"Actually, all this is for my own enjoyment," Georgina intervened with a lazy smirk. "Carter's just along for the contract." She took the pistol off him before either he or Chuck could react. Crouching down next to Blair, she pulled her up - ignoring her attempts to get away, almost into her lap - and pushed the metal up into her neck, forcing her head back. "So be a darling, Baizen, and get it signed."

Carter glanced at Chuck, eyes glinting, hard. Silently, he handed over a piece of paper. "I even have a pen. Just for you."

Chuck had no choice but to take it, gripping it in tight fists as he strained to make out the words in the darkness. He drew in a sharp breath of anger; "Five _years_?" He scanned further down, jaw tightening even more. "This states that you can't be dismissed in the case of misconduct."

Carter looked back at him, face just as cool. "That's right."

"This is ridiculous," Chuck said, icily. "No contract-"

"I'm sorry, Chuckie?" Chuck's eyes shot down again; to his horror, he saw that Georgina had started twisting Blair's other arm, still watching him with a grin.

He went to lunge forwards, but Georgina pushed the gun up into Blair's skin even harder. She was still pulling her arm - Carter had glanced too, eyes resting briefly on the tight line of Blair's lips. "Just sign it," he told Chuck flatly, forcefully, fixing his gaze on him instead.

Chuck's eyes stayed on Blair - there had to be another way; his mind, always so swift to seek out all and any escape routes, frantically scrabbled for one - but all he could see were those pupils, filled with unshed tears, and her white face twisted with _pain - _

He grabbed the pen and signed the paper, jerkily, jaw clenched; then he thrust it into Carter's hands without looking at him and turned back to Blair. Georgina hadn't stopped. She continued, still smiling, set on the path to dislocate Blair's other shoulder.

"I signed it," Chuck hissed - then, more desperately, as she showed no sigs of stopping, "I _signed_ it, Georgina. Stop!"

Georgina simply chuckled. Blair thrashed to get away, and this time there was a strangled cry as Georgina pulled more savagely.

"Enough," Carter snapped, suddenly. His voice was cold, contract in hand as he looked anywhere but Blair. "That's enough, Georgina."

Rolling her eyes, she let go of Blair's arm. "You're no fun."

He ignored that. "Let's go."

She had to get back to the room she'd been locked in - which their friend George, of course, would have no choice but to say she'd been in the whole time. And once Carter himself was far enough away, there would be nothing to link him to it either -

"I'm not finished yet."

Carter stopped. "What?" Georgina stayed where she was, still smiling, gun still nestled in the crook of Blair's neck. He shook his head, impatient; "We've got what we wanted. Come on."

"No, you got _you_ wanted." Her voice was suddenly crawling with malice as she dragged Blair to her feet. "But I still haven't got what I want."

Chuck looked at Blair's limp arm, her tearstained face, brown eyes locked with his - "What more could you want?" he demanded, despairing; "You've _had_ your revenge. Game over."

Georgina laughed at that, harsh sound echoing through the hold. "Oh, it's far from over." She jerked the pistol up, again, into the soft part of Blair's skin, eyes narrowed. "You think this is sufficient revenge for what you did to me?"

"What we _did_?" Blair managed, at last, struggling to speak with the metal so close, head still forced back. "We made you leave Manhattan, Georgina," she spat, "Because you got involved in something that had nothing to do with you. Don't you think you're taking vengeance a little far?"

Georgina jerked, viciously, on her already injured arm; Blair's gasp of sheer agony choked in her throat as her vision swam, dots of pain in front of her eyes; and she was dimly aware of Chuck crying out, the pistol jabbed into her again to keep him back.

"That's right," Georgina sneered with absolute venom, "You made me leave Manhattan to live with an entire family of Southern hicks in _Tennessee_." Her voice was rising now, an edge of insanity to it; "A group of _rednecks_, who watched my every move and, once they'd decided only God could save me, started on the whipping and starving." She dragged Blair even closer, crackling, "Do you know how many days I spent, locked in their filthy cellar with only the_ rats _for company?" She shook her head, laugh escaping her now that made both Chuck and Carter flinch - "How many days I spent imaging what I would do to you when I finally got out? That was the _only_ thing that got me through those beatings."

"Fine," Chuck said suddenly, "But I'm the one who got you sent there, not Blair-"

"Oh, no," Georgina hissed, "No, no, no. It's all of you. All four of you." Her eyes slid to Carter, gleaming frenetically; "You know what I'm talking about, Baizen. All of them," she jeered, "Always looking out for each other. Even Serena, who pretends to be everybody's best friend." There was real bitterness in her voice now. "You know, when I came back she didn't even want to speak to me. She was all for pretending she'd moved past _my_ lifestyle, as she called it. Acting like she was so much better than me." Her mouth curved victoriously; "But she soon listened."

They all stared at her. She'd flipped. And Chuck had a sudden prickle of unease, recalling his conversation with Humphrey. "What did you do?" he asked, very quietly.

Georgina's grin widened. "She thought she could just disappear. Ignore me. But I found her, nestled up in Brooklyn with her little bastard and poor, stupid Humphrey wrapped around her finger." She snorted; "She had him thinking she was some kind of angel."

Blair had always had a dislike of Brooklyn, but it had sunk to a borough she _hated_ for being the place of her husband's death. Brooklyn was where that damn fire was, pictures of it splashed all over the newspapers she refused to read, depicting his heroic descent from some building, nameless bundle of a child in his arms before collapsing on the street himself from smoke inhalation - and her breath caught, abruptly.

"What did you do?" Carter repeated, and his tone now was like iron. Because, however much he denied it, he'd always had more than a soft spot for Serena van der Woodsen. And if anything had happened to her -

"I just persisted until I got her attention," Georgina snickered. "She was_ terrified_. She tried to tell Humphrey, and he didn't understand. Didn't see how one girl could pose any threat." Her eyes flickered over them, pleased, resting last on Chuck. "But then he didn't know me like all of you do." Well, Chuck had been the first to find out. "And after I threatened her little brat, she had no choice but to turn to the one person who _did_ understand. Well, the one person who might've been inclined to help her."

"Nate," Blair whispered. Chuck was staring at her, silently. She swallowed. "You started the fire."

Georgina pulled an ugly face. "And I thought I'd timed it perfectly. Serena got poor Archibald so worried that he finally agreed to come over and offer his protection. I thought I'd put an end to their little reunion - get all of them at once. But Serena got out, and..." Her eyes moved, cruelly, down to Blair, nudging her with the pistol. "Well, you know the rest.

"And then Serena and child well and truly disappeared." She tilted her head. "Still - one down, I suppose. And then, while I was befriending dear Dan in the hopes of news on Serena, I got the most delicious bonus. Not only did I discover you two lovebirds would be on the same ship together - but then I find out Serena sent Humphrey some of her newly acquired money to visit his sister." She glanced down at Blair again - "Did she get that from your dead husband, incidentally?" Another sneer. "Nothing like true love, is there?"

Chuck saw the added flicker of something in Blair's eyes before she could hide it; he cut Georgina off, demanding, "And how did you get hold of the tickets so quickly? Because it wasn't due to two last minute cancellations."

She snorted condescendingly. "I suppose you're a little less gullible than Dan. I stole them, of course. Third class tickets don't have names to them." Her eyes narrowed into slits; "Clawing your way back from Tennessee on nothing makes you nothing if not resourceful." She glared at them hatefully, before allowing her lips to curl into a smile once more. "But I've got both of you now. So I suppose the only question is who to kill first." She fingered the trigger, glancing over at Chuck. "Personally, I'd love to see the look on Chuckie's face with little Waldorf's brains all over the floor." Her glance skimmed to Carter, who'd frozen; "What do you think, Baizen?"

Murder had never been on the agenda. Threatening them with guns, perhaps - but he'd never intended to actually shoot. He wasn't a killer. Going as far as torture was bad enough, but he'd been banking on Bass giving in quickly.

Georgina was unhinged.

(More than he'd ever imagined).

He shook his head. "We're not doing this."

Georgina's smile disappeared. "What are you talking about?"

"The plan was never to _murder_ them. Put the gun down, Georgina."

She hissed in a breath, grip tightening on the pistol. "I should've known you'd be too much of a coward to see this through to the end."

Carter only stared at her; "What _end_? We're not killing anyone." He was still numb with shock (though he'd never show it) that she'd tried to kill Serena; that she'd killed Nate -

"Fine," she seethed. "_You're_ not killing anyone. Now get out."

He stopped, glancing at the two of them - Bass, one of his worst enemies; and Blair, pistol still bruising her skin - "Put the gun down." He pressed his lips together. "Now."

Georgina scoffed in disbelief. "Don't tell me you're playing the_ hero_ now?" she jeered. "It's too late for that, Baizen. You've got your contract - now get out." And, when he hesitated still; "I'm going to kill them either way." She prodded Blair with the gun, pointedly. "The question is just whether or not you want to watch."

But Carter stayed where he was - because he could see, out of the corner of his eye, what Georgina couldn't now that all her attention was focused on him. Chuck was advancing on her, very silently.

"I'm not going anywhere." He stared back, keeping her distracted. "You need help."

But it seemed to effect her more than he'd anticipated; her eyes suddenly flared as she gnashed her teeth together. "Why does everyone keep _saying _that? The only _help_ I need is retribution. And then I'll be just fine." She cocked the gun, anger replaced with a vindictive calm. "And that's exactly what-"

Chuck smashed into her, going straight for the pistol, yanking the barrel away from Blair's head with all his might - and Georgina's fingers jerked on the trigger, losing her grip and sending a wild shot into the air that narrowly missed the top of Blair's hair. She howled in fury, one arm still wrapped around Blair's neck and fist buried in her curls, lunging for the gun again - but Carter got there first.

He snatched it out of her grasp, moving away with it aimed back at her. But in the confusion, he'd failed the notice the slip of white paper fall from his jacket; and, as her eyes fell on it before his did, Georgina managed to seize it.

And then they were left, facing each other. Carter kept the gun pointed, but Georgina had forced Blair in front of her and into the firing line. And in her other hand, triumphantly, she clutched the contract.

"Come on, Baizen," she taunted him. "Shoot."

Chuck had regained his footing and was tensed, eyes on Blair alone and the arm wrapped round her throat. Georgina wasn't going to make that mistake again, though - she'd already started backing away, dragging Blair with her.

"That's right," she sneered. "You're too afraid to. You've already made that quite clear."

Carter continued to grip the pistol, but she knew she had him. Whether or not it was because he was a coward, he couldn't look someone in the eye and just shoot.

And then, before any of them could react, she suddenly threw Blair, as hard as she could; away from Chuck and towards Carter, before turning on her heel and racing away.

Blair landed, hard, on the floor - on her injured arm; and Chuck's immediate reaction was straight for her.

Carter, however, moved right around her, snarling in anger; and raced after Georgina and his contract, pistol in hand.

Chuck swiftly caught Blair, turning her over; her eyes were clouded in pain as he gently, so carefully slid his hand under her head, lifting her up to him. "Are you all right?" he checked, voice low as he searched her face, trying hard not to cry in relief that he finally had her, in his arms.

"I'll live," she mumbled back, weakly, managing a faint smile (because he was holding her, and she could breathe in the scent of his jacket, the warmth of his body) - and then the door of the hold slammed shut, leaving them alone in the darkness.

* * *

There were witnesses on the upper deck; bewildered passengers who were just able to identify a girl in white and a young man racing along the deck. They weren't entirely sure what happened afterwards. Some said they were sure the girl had climbed onto the railings, dangling what looked like a handkerchief - or a piece of paper, perhaps - over the drop below. Others were convinced there had been a struggle wherein the young man had forced her onto them. There was a gunshot, that much was for sure - though as to who had fired the gun, they couldn't tell. But they all saw the girl topple backwards, disappearing over the railing with a flash of white skirts - and they all saw the young man's hand stretch after her, grabbing at something - or pushing her, one argued - though they simply couldn't decide whether he'd been trying to help her or take something from her.

In any case, the girl fell into the sea and had disappeared by the time help had arrived. It was doubtful she'd even survived the fall, let alone the icy waters. And the young man had stumbled backwards with a wound to his head. He was barely conscious as the custodians carried him down to the infirmary, where he passed out for the rest of the night; but the nurse was surprised to discover that his fists stayed clenched around two things - a sheet of paper, and a diamond necklace.

She managed to retrieve the diamond necklace, and put it into a safe for when he woke up - but, try as she might, had no hope of getting his grip to loosen on the paper.

* * *

Once Chuck had untied her wrists and ankles, wrapping her shivering frame in his jacket (without giving her a chance to protest; she'd been too cold to do anything but cling to it, anyway) he left her to check on the door. He hadn't wanted to let her out of his sight for a second, but he needed to get her out of there. He had no idea what was happening with Carter and Georgina, but he wasn't staying to find out - and Blair needed warmth and medical attention.

But the door was locked.

Carter or Georgina must have slammed it so hard that the latch had fallen back. In any case, Chuck had no hope of opening it; it was a huge iron door, devoid of any windows or weak points. He'd tried.

So he had no option but to go back and tell her the bad news. She was still shivering when he got there, and he was sure her lips had taken on a bluish tinge. Her face was still white, anyway; there was no heating in the hold. And God knew how long she'd even been there in just her slip.

Quietly, he slid down onto the floor next to her, pulling her into his chest - though he was careful of her shoulder. She closed her eyes, leaning in gratefully to the heat of his arms. She rested her head against his shirt and felt the shivering start to subside.

"I can't get the door to open."

She closed her eyes, still enjoying his heat too much to look up. "We're locked in."

Instinctively, his hand moved to her hair; his fingers so firm and soothing on her scalp after Georgina's claws, thumb running over her curls. "There'll be a custodian," he assured her - assuring himself, too, though he'd never tell her that; "They have to check on the holds."

He felt her nod her head against him.

They sat in silence for a while, his hot hands tracing patterns over her back to keep her warm, calming her down till the pain in her arm and the horror of the night were a little less overwhelming. And that was all she needed, for now; to be held. For him to stroke her spine, exactly as he was doing, and wrap his arms around her just as he was, the weight of his chin on top of her head. How was it that he always seemed to know exactly what she needed?

She finally glanced up at him, breathing out. "Thank you," she murmured.

His mouth curled, the words _any time _forming in his lips; but he couldn't quite get them out, gazing down at her pale face and remembering what Georgina had done to her and how close he'd come to -

Her little fingers tightened on his shirt, bringing him back; she was looking up at him because she'd seen the expression in his eyes. Quietly, she wrapped her other arm - the better arm - around his neck, burying her face against him as she breathed, firmly, "It's all right."

He just clung back to her. It wasn't all right. It wasn't all right at all. But if he dropped his lips against the softness of her hair, pressing his cheek against those curls and enveloping himself in her familiar scent - because he had her, now, and she was safe - then it was better.


	13. Chapter 13

He felt Blair slip into sleep at some point, tell-tale heaviness of her limbs and head lolling against his chest as her hand stayed clung to his shirt. And he felt his own eyes start to drift, head dropping on hers.

He was awoken, with a start, by her movement underneath him. She was moaning faintly, twisting in his arms; he caught her, holding her out to calm her - but her eyes were fevered and her cheeks now flushed. And when he felt her cheek, he realised the skin was burning under his hand. She was shivering, uncontrollably, in his hold, hair damp with sweat.

"Blair." He tried to hold her, pushing the hair off her face, hands tangling in her curls; "Blair. It's all right."

But he was panicking, because she didn't even seem to recognise him and her skin was so hot -

She groaned something that sounded like his name; and, as his eyes searched her, they landed on her shoulder. He couldn't be too sure in the darkness, but it looked worse than it had before - the slender limb enflamed and still twisted out of place. It was sending her into the fever. He caught her arm, gently, trying to still her; she thrashed away, still whimpering.

"Blair." He lifted her face, forcing her up to him. "Just hold still."

Something flickered in the haze of pain, her eyes finally landing on him as he held her gaze. "It hurts," she managed, strangled, eyelids squeezing shut, groaning again - "It _hurts, _Chuck._"_

He gritted his teeth together, hard, fingers tightening in the strands of her hair, still holding her. "I know." He slid an arm under her, trying to gently tilt her so he could get to her arm, studying it. He wasn't a doctor.

He'd seen a dislocated shoulder before. Nate had been playing football - a game Chuck deemed a useless waste of exertion, proved by the sight of Nate howling on the pitch after a particularly burly player had rammed into him. The annual Van der Bilt game; he, Blair and Serena had all been watching at a safe distance from the stone balcony.

And despite Serena's long legs, it was a close call as to who got there first when they saw Nate go down - Chuck or Blair.

The family doctor had arrived, and quite cheerfully told a horrified Blair that he'd just need to 'pop' Nate's arm back into place. Chuck had watched in twisted fascination as the doctor had calmly leveled the arm above Nate's head, pushing until there was, indeed, a _pop. _Nate had nearly passed out. Afterwards, however, the pain had all but disappeared.

But they'd been fourteen - it had been years ago. And it wasn't like Chuck had any medical training.

Blair was still shaking as he reached for her injured arm, trying to get a better look - and as soon as he touched it, she let out an even higher whimper and flinched away. He forced himself to steady her, taking her arm again even when she squirmed to get away; "I just need to look at it." He ran his other hand over her other arm, soothing her, while he strained to inspect the dislocated joint.

He could see where it had moved, yanked out of place; if he could somehow raise it and push -

"Blair," he said, voice very low; "I'm going to try and put your arm back in place."

He didn't know if she'd even heard him, eyes still squeezed shut with pain; and it was _agony, _watching her. He didn't know what he was doing, and he was terrified he'd make it worse - but the longer her arm stayed the way it was, the worse she'd get anyway.

So he gritted his teeth again and moved his hand further up the limb, trying not to flinch himself as she cringed at his touch on the tender skin; he had to keep himself steady. As he took hold of it, trying to move it, she nearly screamed with pain - and he ignored how the sound wrenched at his gut, struggling to keep her still - "Blair. Blair, look at me." She wriggled again, and he practically had to sit on her to hold her still. "_Blair_."

Her eyes finally snapped open, seeking his; he held the familiar brown, firmly. "I've got you."

Some of the focus came back into her pupils and she managed a faint nod. "Chuck..." He leaned closer to catch her voice. A wave of pain passed in front of her, again, but she fought it to whisper, "I love you, but you're not a doctor."

His mouth went to curve, ever so slightly - because that was more like Blair - but then he registered the first part of the sentence; and for a moment, he didn't think he could move. Then he remembered that she was halfway delusional. She barely knew what she was saying. And he pushed it aside; pushed it aside because he needed to focus on fixing her.

"I know," he said, very softly, torn between wryness and pain. "But let me try?"

Her eyes flickered on him and she nodded again, silently. He caught her good hand in his, lifting it to his thigh - the nearest part of him she could reach - and pressed her nails into it, telling her to grip tight.

Her lips curled in the weakest of smiles; "Marks to prove it?" Her voice was still caught, though her gaze rested on him.

He smiled back, though his eyes were still dark - _I still have the marks on my back to prove it, _he'd taunted her after that first night - smiled at the memory. A different darkness, the two of them - _h__oisting her up, squeezing her waist as he lifted her out of the water, carrying her from the waves till she stumbled backwards on the shore - her back hitting the sand and her legs tangling with his as she reached for him with a desperation that sent thrill down his spine - the sand and the moonlight and the hiss and spray of the water, moans mingling with the strange, fluttery churning in his stomach - his heart beat throbbing with hers as he memorized with his hands and mouth every curve and every limb of her body, handfuls of wet hair precious as he kissed her breasts and stomach through the soaked silk - her moan in his mouth, burying her face into the crook of his neck as her body arched into his, fingers scraping his back -_

And, looking down into her eyes now - once he was sure the same memory was playing through her mind too, occupying her thoughts - he took hold of her arm and pushed it, hard. Her lips clenched at the sudden, searing throb, eyes widening - but her nails pressed into his skin with all her might, clinging on as tightly as she had that night, even tighter - and then, mercifully, finally, as he leveled it as hard as he could, there was a _pop_; not sickening this time, but sheer relief.

She gasped and he grabbed her hand immediately, twining his fingers through hers tight and lifting her face up to him. He searched that face, her breathing still shallow; but it gradually deepened, her eyes gradually easing closed.

"Better?"

She nodded - her arm still ached, but it was no longer the stabbing agony. "Much," she mumbled. She crawled into his lap, and he pulled her up, arms sliding around her again. She was still shaking, slightly, from the trauma as she let herself collapse against him and her eyes fluttered shut. "Chuck," she breathed, drowsily, into his shirt. "I meant it."

And then she was asleep.

* * *

When she woke again, she was still a little disorientated, though her eyes were more lucid and her fever gone down. She sat up, moving away slightly to glance around, up at him - but his hands stayed on her arms, and she stayed nestled between his legs - and she made no effort to move any further away.

"How long have we been here?"

He shook his head; hours, at least. "A custodian will have to come soon," he answered firmly instead.

She was silent. He wasn't sure if he'd convinced her any more than he had himself.

"At least Georgina and Carter haven't come back," she murmured at last. He could tell she was repressing a shudder; his fingers threaded a pattern on her bare arm, unconsciously, brushing it away. "I can't..." she faltered. Then she shook herself. "I can't believe she went that far," she said, quietly. "I can't believe Nate-"

"Nate?" Chuck repeated, and his voice suddenly tightened, staring down at her - because the memory of her face, contorted in pain, was all too vivid. "What about what she did to _you_?"

She paused, looking up at him. She'd been scared - scared because she'd always considered herself a master of her own pain, and the physical hurt had been like nothing she'd ever experienced - but it occurred to her that if she'd had to watch _him_ go through that -

"I'm glad it was me and not you," she said abruptly, very softly. She raised her eyes to his - he was staring - and her mouth twisted. "Well, I doubt I could push _your s_houlder back in place."

He made a noise that wasn't quite a laugh.

Her eyes flickered to his again. "What are you going to do about Carter?"

He shook his head in answer; he hadn't even thought about it. With any luck, Georgina had managed to throw the contract over the side of the ship. He doubted Carter would let that happen, though. And with Georgina on the loose - who even knew what had happened to him?

"No idea," he muttered.

She bit her lip. "Right."

There was another silence; he glanced down at her, and suddenly wondered if she'd interpreted his answer as reproach. Surely she couldn't think -

"Blair." She looked, and he saw, now, the trouble in her eyes. "I would never-" his voice stuck, hoarse in his throat. He gripped her hand instead, forcing a smile. "I'll work something out," he promised, assured her. Scoffed; "It doesn't matter."

She nodded, but she was aware of the sting of tears behind her lashes. She wasn't even sure why; hadn't she cried enough already? "I'm sorry."

His grip tightened, brow furrowing. "Don't be."

But she couldn't stop it now; now she was actually crying. "No," she whispered; 'You don't understand."

He frowned, staring down at her. There was nothing _to_ understand. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, tears blurring her vision and burning her cheeks.

"Blair," he said, more harshly; "It doesn't matter."

"It does," she whispered, choked. "It _does_ matter, because all this time I've been blaming you, and the truth is-"

He shook his head, searching her, trying to pull her to him. "What?"

"It's my fault." He looked at her dumbly and she drew a shuddering breath, finally struggling, "That day, with Nate-" her voice caught, "When you didn't come." His own eyes narrowed in recognition; he knew what day she was talking about. But before he could say anything, she gave her head a little shake. "I lied." She could barely even look at him as she whispered, "I didn't take care of it." Swallowed. "It took care of itself."

He just stared; and she could stand it, the look of numb disbelief on his face as he strained to make sense of it, searching her, something else dawning -

"I had my bags all packed," she mumbled. "I had everything ready, and then I went to take a bath before..." she gulped, trying to catch her breath. "I went to take a bath, and then as I was getting changed there was - blood," he voice broke, "And I didn't know how to make it stop." Her nails were pressing holes in her palm now. "So I lied."

He was silent. He was struggling, in vain, to catch his thoughts - she'd _lied_ to him - and she'd gone through that, alone - lied straight to his face; and he'd believed her; he, who knew her better than he knew himself -

"I lied too," he said at last, hollow. He didn't really know what he was saying, or why he was saying it_ now_ of all times - "I didn't sleep with anyone."

She stared at him, eyes caught and swimming with bewilderment; and still so full of guilt."What?"

He was aware that it was hardly even relevant. But he wanted her to know - wanted to explain it, somehow, for both of them; "I...wanted you to think I had." His voice was so slow and constricted.

"Well," she said at last, bitterly, "I wanted to think you had too." She forced back the lump in her throat. "The whole time I was waiting for you, every minute you weren't there - I wanted it to be your fault." She shook her head again, lifting her gaze to his, eyes glassy with tears - "But it was me. I wished it would all go away, so many times-" her trembling lip, trapped between her teeth. "But when it did, it wasn't what I wanted." She couldn't stop the strangled sob that tore at him; but he could only sit motionless, jaw tight. "It wasn't what I wanted at all. And the number of times I thought - I thought I wished Serena dead, but I don't know what I'd _do_ if anything happened to her-"

His hand was still gripping hers, and she doubted he'd even noticed. Shakily, she lifted her other hand to her face, trying to push her tears away - not that it did any good. She'd never broken down like this - not in front of anyone, not this badly. Serena had seen her closest to it when she'd found her crumpled on the bathroom floor after a particularly big meal; but never Chuck. She'd never wanted to be this weak. Not in front of him; not when he'd end up hating her even more than when she'd told the lie in the first place. "It's my fault," she whispered finally, broken.

His eyes met hers, at last. "No," he growled. "It's not." He looked at her, almost helplessly, something bordering between wrenching hurt and frustration, anger; "Don't be ridiculous."

She shook her head - "You don't understand, Chuck-"

"I _do_ understand," he snapped. "You're blaming yourself for something you had no control over. It was no one's fault. Least of all yours." His hand tightened even more, forcing her to look up at him. "Hard though it is to believe, not even you can make something happen by _willing_ it."

She gazed up at him. He could see her thoughts, already working to argue - and he cut her off, hard. "Just stop."

She bit her lip. Her eyes flickered down to their still interlinked hands. She couldn't believe he was even talking to her; but he was still holding her hand. How could he just forgive her? She glanced back up at him, but there was no hatred in his eyes. His shoulders were still rigid with - anger? - but he made no move to push her away; if anything, he held her even tighter, refusing to back down.

And she didn't know what to say to that - didn't know how to tell him, because she was finding it hard to swallow just looking into the darkness of those hazel eyes. "I miss my best friend," she whispered instead, at last.

His hand squeezed hers, his eyes unreadable now as he suddenly pressed his lips, hot, to the top of her head. And he murmured, raw, into her curls, his own lids closing for a moment; "So do I."

* * *

Dan woke up to absolute pain. It hurt to even breathe - hurt when he opened his eyes, ceiling spinning above his head - and it took him some time to realise he was lying on the floor. His head throbbed, and when he tried, slowly, to feel what was wrong, his hand encountered wetness. He lifted it away from his scalp, realising in horror that it was blood. He must have cut his head open.

He tried in vain to remember what had happened - running down a corridor, a pair of furious dark eyes; _she has Blair _- and he groaned as he saw the mess of his other hand, crushed under his body. He'd obviously landed on it. Tenderly, he tried to ease it out - wrist must have broken his fall. He _hurt_. All over.

He tried to stagger to his feet, because he needed help. The room swam in front of him. There were stairs; stairs that he struggled to crawl up, groaning - he had to find someone, had to tell them -

The steward who'd been placed in charge of mopping the lower floors caught him, lurching blindly along the corridor. He nearly had the fright of his life; the young man tried to grab him, blood trickling down his face, making noises as he cradled a snapped wrist.

He managed to collect himself enough to ask what was wrong, supporting the lad before he fell; but he was near on incomprehensible. The only thing the steward caught was _Blair _and_ Mr. Bass _- and something that sounded like _eena. _He quickly decided the best course of action would be to get him to his superior. Hopefully he'd know what to do.

* * *

Eleanor was fixing her jewelry and trying not to pace when there was a knock at the door. Neither Blair nor Chuck had been seen since they'd run out of the ball. Nor had either of them returned all night, and it was already edging on midday. She and Bart had been at a loss; the last thing they wanted was for the entire ship to know that their children had disappeared together. Blair's behavior at the ball had been bad enough. They'd been forced to make subtle enquiries with the custodians to search, lining their pockets enough not to breathe a word to anyone once they were found.

And once they were found, Eleanor was going to kill her daughter.

She moved to the door now, hoping it was a custodian with news - but it was Bart.

"I was just approached by the head of staff," he stated. "Apparently they found that Humphrey boy, and he's asking for Mr. Bass." Eleanor stared at him. "I saw Humphrey at the ball," he explained flatly; "He left with Charles."

"Well, does he know where they are?"

Bart just shook his head. "I'm going now. Let's hope so."

He could see the pinched line of Eleanor's lips - this was looking worse and worse by the moment. At least she was still speaking to him. For now. How had his son managed to make such a perfect mess of everything, yet again?

She nodded brusquely. "I'll come with you."

* * *

The steward was beginning to wish he'd never found Mr. Humphrey. Since all the boy had managed to stutter was _Blair_, again, before passing out, the two intimidating first class passengers had turned to questioning _him_ instead. And however much he insisted he'd only found the boy, and had no idea about anything else, it wasn't good enough for them.

They finally demanded that he show them _where_ he'd been found; and, accompanied by a group of custodians and the head of staff, they made their way to the corridor. It was Bart who noted the trail of blood from Humphrey's head, leading further up the floor. The steward would really have preferred to get back to his mopping - especially now that he had the blood to clean up - but Mrs. Waldorf silenced him with a single glance.

They followed the trail to a flight of stairs. It ended in a small puddle at the bottom of them. "He must've fallen," one of the custodians commented, scratching his head.

Eleanor could care less about that. "Where does this lead?" she asked impatiently.

He shrugged; "This just goes to the hold, ma'am. Ain't nothing there but storage."

"And have you checked in there?" she demanded.

He blanched a bit. "Well...no, but it's off limits to passengers."

Bart's face was cold and unimpressed. "Did we not make ourselves clear when we said to search every room?"

All of the custodians were squirming now. "It's just-"

"Just nothing," Eleanor snapped. "You're being paid to be thorough. A quick look only takes a few seconds." She glared at them. "Well?" They stared nervously back. "Lead the way!"

Hastily, they scrabbled to it.

* * *

It took both of them a moment to react as they were temporarily blinded, lights flooding the room - Chuck's gaze met Blair's swiftly, aware of the sound of voices and the door being opened -

He went to push Blair behind him, climbing to his feet; and then froze when he was met with the icy eyes of Bart and Eleanor's appalled expression.

"Father-" he struggled, at the same time as Blair mumbled, "Mother," - but both their parents were silent, staring at his arm round her waist and Blair's state of undress, his jacket clearly hanging over her shoulders. They barely registered the group of other people that had followed, staring in equally stunned silence.

"I can explain-" Chuck began; but Bart shook his head.

"Save it." His tone was hard, almost unbearable disapproval etched all over his features. Chuck really had gone too far this time.

"Blair." Eleanor's tone was equally frosty as she ordered her over.

Blair moved away from Chuck's arms, insisting that it wasn't what it looked like; but Eleanor caught her sharply and started to march her out, grip iron. "We're leaving. Now."

"Father," Chuck struggled again, but Bart just shook his head and turned away. "Move along," he ordered the custodians. "There's nothing to see here." And he left without even looking at his son.

* * *

"Surely even you realise how ludicrous this sounds?"

"Yes, mother. I _know_. But I'm telling you-"

"Do you honestly expect me to believe this, Charles?"

"I'm_ aware_ it seems far-fetched, but-"

Bart and Eleanor were sitting in their adjacent rooms, staring at their children in cold incredulity. Carter had already woken up and claimed ignorance of everything - apparently he'd seen the Humphrey girl wandering around above deck (there was a particularly careless custodian; George something) and he'd been trying to stop her when she'd fallen. He had the witnesses on deck to make sense of his story.

So it was just Chuck and Blair's word against his. And, since it was their parents listening, that word was already set to fall on deaf ears.

"Why would I make something like this up?" Chuck ground out in frustration. "You_ saw_ the bruises on her - do you think I did that too?"

Bart glanced at his son. He sighed. "Charles, whatever the circumstances may have been - the fact is, you were found with the girl in her underwear. By her_ mother_. And you have no proof."

"So the fact that Blair has the same story counts for nothing?" Chuck shook his head, anger rising. "You really believe _Baizen_ over us?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," Bart snapped. "Use your head. There's nothing linking Baizen or that other girl to any of it."

"Yes," Chuck said suddenly. "There is." He swallowed. He hadn't told his father about the contract yet. "Carter drew up something for me to sign."

Bart stopped, eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I - I signed a contract. Giving him a job in Bass Industries."

His father just stared at him. "You did _what_? Under what authority?"

"Actually," Chuck could hardly force the words out, hardly bear to see the look in Bart's eyes; "Since I'm in charge of the London account..."

Bart closed his eyes, slowly. "Of course." And that was worse than any insult he could have leveled at his son. Worse than anger, and worse than criticism.

"Father," Chuck insisted; "I had no choice. But now we have proof-"

"Proof of _what_, exactly?" Bart cut him off, hard. "That you were stupid enough to let Carter Baizen into my company?" Chuck struggled to open his mouth, but he knew his father was right. It proved nothing. "What exactly was in this contract?"

How could Chuck tell him he'd barely even read it? "There was a clause," he admitted, biting the inside of his mouth. Bart was going to find out anyway. "He can't be dismissed in the case of misconduct." He stared at his shoes; anywhere but at his father.

"And you signed it." Bart's voice was flat.

Chuck finally looked up at him, eyes burning. "I _had _to sign it," he snarled; but there was a thin line of desperation underneath. "They were hurting Blair."

Bart looked at him in silence for a moment. Then, sighing, he got to his feet. "I'll have to visit Baizen. Work out exactly how bad this contract is."

Did his father believe him? "Can't you talk to Eleanor-"

"Eleanor isn't speaking to us," Bart cut him off, cold. "And I should think you're the last person she wants to see." He shook his head, giving his son a final glance. "I'm going to talk to Carter. I suggest you don't leave this room."

Eleanor, meanwhile, was fighting to cover her increasing concern.

"You're telling me you were alone with him, all night, and nothing happened? And I'm supposed to believe that?"

Blair paused. Of course, ironically, in this particular incident nothing _had_ happened. Or nothing like Eleanor was thinking. It only made sense that _this_was the one time they'd been caught.

"Chuck didn't do anything," she said firmly instead. "I _told_ you, he was the one-"

"Yes," Eleanor sighed, "Someone else undressed you and locked you in there with him." She arched an eyebrow. "Blair, you told me last time that Charles had done nothing. And now you're saying the same thing, when all the evidence points to the contrary."

"Why would I lie about this?" Blair fumed. "Mother, you know Chuck."

Eleanor just shook her head. "I know what I saw." Blair opened her mouth to protest again, but her mother intervened. "Blair," she admitted at last, "I'm worried." She gazed down at her daughter, pausing. It wasn't like her to admit she'd been wrong. "I thought that...if you moved on, it would help you. But if anything, it seems to have made it worse. First your actions at the ball..."

"I've already explained that," Blair hissed. "It wasn't me, it was Georgina. You _knew_ Georgina Sparks, mother - you know her parents; she lived across-"

"What I know is that her parents sent her away after rumours of her reputation. Rumours," she added, mouth pursed pointedly, "That had a lot less to go on than what I saw today."

Blair bit her lip. "So you want to send me away too?" she shot bitterly.

"You watch your tone," Eleanor snapped. Her daughter was silent; she glanced at her and exhaled, giving her head a little shake. "And don't be so ridiculous. Of course I'm not going to send you away." Blair's eyes flickered up at that. "But maybe this trip to Paris is for the best after all." She raised her eyebrows; "I think that you need a break, Blair."

"From what?" Blair asked quietly, and her voice shook a little now. Because _now _it was the last thing she wanted. How could her mother be such a hypocrite? "From Chuck?"

Eleanor pinched her lips. "From everything." She gave another sigh. "I may have pushed you too hard. And I don't think it's done anything to help you."

"I'm _fine-_"

"No. You're not." She leveled her gaze at the girl. "I only want what's best for you, Blair. And if that includes staying away from - well, whatever it is that's making you act the way you are - then so be it." She caught Blair's chin. "You obviously need time." Her tone was almost gentle - as gentle as Eleanor Waldorf ever got - but it offered no room for argument. "Maybe some time with your father will sort you out. As soon as we get off this ship, we're crossing the channel. I don't think staying in London is a good idea anymore."

* * *

**A/N Thank you so much for your reviews! Sorry that this update took a bit longer...**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N First of all, a massive apology for how ridiculously long it's taken me to update. I was ill over Christmas - I haven't abandoned the story, I promise! Updates will resume as normal from now :) I was overwhelmed when I opened my inbox and saw all the reviews, story and author alerts and favourites - thank you so much! I just hope I haven't lost all my readers because you got sick of waiting for a new chapter...**

* * *

Breakfast was a decidedly frosty affair. Both parents had determined the night before to take dinner in their rooms, but Eleanor was quite adamant that they would be showing their faces the next morning. For appearances' sake, she didn't point blank ignore Bart - but the Bass and Waldorf parties were conveniently seated at opposite ends of the table this time.

Chuck wasn't stupid enough to try and catch Blair's eye under Eleanor's hawkish glare - Bart may have been infuriating, but he was, painfully, right. Eleanor didn't want to talk to them, and persisting wouldn't do him any favors. He'd already begged - yes, _begged_; Chuck Bass - his father to at least check that Blair had been seen by a doctor.

Bart's curt answer had been that he'd find out if and when the timing was right. He'd already been to see Baizen - he hadn't told Chuck much, but had returned with an even heavier brow, and the brusque news that there was no way of getting out of the contract. And nothing about anything else.

At least there was no sign of Baizen now - he was still recovering, apparently.

Blair, meanwhile, had spent a restless night. The last thing she felt like doing was forcing down the fruit on her plate.

"Blair," her mother said surreptitiously, pointedly. "You've hardly touched your food."

She opened her mouth to snap that she wasn't hungry; but then remembered she needed to convince her mother she was fine, and managed to swallow a lump of melon.

The truth was, she wasn't so sure she _was_ fine. Despite the potential embarrassment, she knew her mother wouldn't hesitate to call the ship's doctor if she thought Blair needed it. If anything, it would fuel her cause. And Blair didn't want that. Her shoulder was on the way to healing, anyway. It wasn't the physical pain.

She'd broken down in front of Chuck. And she remembered, quite clearly, the three little words she'd given him. Fever and dislocated shoulder or not. The truth had come out. And the truth was the one thing Blair Waldorf was terrified of - there was a reason she tried to get by on sheer implication and facade alone.

They'd both been afraid. Desperation heightened emotions; and what if, now that he'd had more time to process it, the full implications of what she'd told him had sunk in? Even after all of that, she was scared. Scared she'd let him see too much - scared, because it was Chuck. Because now that she'd admitted she loved him - and not just to him, but to herself - there was no turning back. She couldn't lie any more; and what if he pushed her away agin? She'd spent so long protecting herself with supposed hate, and now the fear of losing him was unbearable.

And her head was still swimming with Nate, and Serena -

And there was that small part of her; that small weakness that was more like Chuck than she would've cared to admit, that whispered the easiness of escape - the chance to get away, from all of it - to let people think what they already thought. If Eleanor thought she was weak, she could go to France, like she'd wanted from the beginning, and actually enjoy something easy. Enjoy being taken care of by her father; give in and just enjoy letting other people take control, instead of the tiring and terrifying task of always taking it herself. She wasn't in control when she was with Chuck anyway.

She'd been exhausted for so long now.

But the thought of losing him again -

And it didn't help that her mother was hovering over her every action; she only wanted to_ glance_ over there, look at him once, just to see. Just catch his gaze. She could usually_ feel_ his eyes on her, and she couldn't stand not knowing.

"Mr. Bass?" Bart glanced up at the low voice of the head of staff, Chuck watching. "I thought you'd like to know that Mr. Humphrey has come round. He's in the infirmary, but he's awake."

Bart just nodded. Dismissed him - the Humphrey boy was of no further use to them, after all. It wasn't like he could verify the story either way.

Meanwhile, the Waldorfs had risen, breakfast finished. Chuck's eyes slid immediately to Blair's. He managed to catch her just long enough to see that she obviously hadn't slept any more than he had; and her head turned, own eyes moving to his - before Eleanor ushered her out of the room. Chuck gritted his teeth. This was ridiculous.

"Charles," his father warned. Chuck glared at him, but Bart merely raised his brows. "Don't."

* * *

Blair had been kept busy all morning. Her mother had dragged her to the salon - and much as Blair adored pampering, she was too distracted to enjoy the attention the ladies lavished on her hair and skin. And she knew what her mother was up to.

Bart, meanwhile, had informed his son they were going to the squash court. Seeing as Chuck was usually the one to suggest their games, it was hardly subtle. And much as he wanted to slam out his frustration in that little black ball; he was equally distracted - he, who never put anything less than a hundred and ten percent into keeping on his toes in front of Bart.

Once her nails were finished, and Eleanor had given her seal of approval, she announced it was ladies' swim time. Blair stared at her in incredulity. "We're going _swimming_, mother?"

Eleanor gave her a look to silence her. "And?"

_And _mother-daughter bonding activities were not something Eleanor could even pretend to be interested in. Not after so long. "I've just had my hair curled," Blair pointed out instead, scowling.

Eleanor shrugged loftily. "You can have it re-done afterwards, if you must."

Blair gaped in protest - but of course. That would take up even more time. Honestly, did her mother not trust her at all? (Her mistrust may have been well placed in this incident, since Blair was fully planning on getting to Chuck as soon as she could). But that was besides the point - especially as it didn't look like she'd get a single opportunity in the first place.

"I'll get my swimsuit," she muttered, knowing she had no choice, and stalked off.

* * *

Blair climbed out of the water, reaching for her towel.

"Where are you going?"

She raised her eyebrows heavenwards, aware Eleanor couldn't see. "To get a drink, mother." She turned round, fixing a sweet smile. "Do I need a guard to escort me?"

Eleanor narrowed her eyes at her. "Don't be cheeky." She went back to swimming, dismissing her.

Blair's shoulder hadn't healed enough for her to swim properly - she knew her mother was aware, but she'd feigned laziness. The last thing she wanted was an excuse for Eleanor to confine her to bed. But the heat of the pool was making her thirsty, and couldn't stand lying on her back in the water, doing nothing, for much longer.

She headed back into the female changing rooms, towel still wrapped around her costume. Once there, she tugged off the rubber swim cap and shook her curls out, glaring at the disarray they'd fallen into. They probably _would_ need re-doing.

She was just about to turn the tap on when the sound of muffled voices stopped her. Muffled male voices, on the other side of the wall. Glancing around - this one was definitely empty - she pressed herself against the wall, straining to hear. She recognised that drawl, even through the tiles. The other side was the male changing room. This was the most luck she'd had in a while. Could she...?

Bart was there. And she was in her bathing suit. But she _needed_ to speak to Chuck. Or at least see him.

She'd entered her changing room through the side that led to the pool. Since it was still ladies' swim, they must have come from the gymnasium. How on earth was she meant to get to him? Without Bart realising?

Then she stilled again; the voices had stopped. Quickly, panicking, she hurried to the gymnasium exit and yanked the door open. And she saw them - heading in the opposite direction, backs to her. Leaving.

"Chuck!" she hissed before she could think better of it.

Chuck heard. He turned, instinctively - just in time to see the ladies' changing room door slam shut. Bart had stopped too. He glanced at the door, then at his son.

Chuck attempted a shrug, mind racing. He knew that hiss.

"I think I left something in the changing rooms. I should check." It was pointless, really, to even come up with a decent excuse. He had to get back there.

"Charles," Bart warned again.

But Chuck held his ground. He wasn't losing the opportunity. He'd already turned. "I'll only be a moment," he said tightly.

Bart looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Be careful." His voice was a threat - if Eleanor knew, or he was in any way caught, then Chuck was only damaging the situation further. "I'll be waiting."

Grateful beyond words, Chuck hurried away, back down the corridor. He hesitated outside the door, glancing casually around him. The rest of the corridor was empty. He entered.

Blair was waiting for him, arms wrapped the towel that she was hugging to herself. His gaze flickered, head to toe, across her damp bare skin and the droplets clinging to her waves of hair. He raised an eyebrow.

"Chuck," she snapped, gripping the towel a little tighter. She was nervous, and it was making her prickly. Chuck's dark hair was drenched black with sweat, squash goggles slung in one hand, and she could smell the tang of his - "We need to talk."

"I prefer to talk after," he answered with a slight smirk. It didn't quite meet his eyes. Her own softened momentarily - almost an eye roll - but she didn't laugh. No use hiding behind smarm. He glanced at her shoulder. "Have you seen the doctor yet?"

She shook her head, distracted; "I'm fine."

He just looked at her. He knew the same thing she did - she wasn't fine.

She glowered at him. "Eleanor doesn't want to see you any more," she said abruptly, instead. "She wants to go straight to Paris." She lifted her chin, waiting for a response.

He bit the inside of his mouth, eyes never leaving hers. "Is that what you want?" he asked at last. His voice was low.

She stared back at him, almost frustrated. That wasn't the answer she wanted. She wanted him to tell her - she wanted -

"Maybe it's for the best," she snapped defiantly. Still waiting.

He flinched, at that. His eyes were swirling, boring into her - but still he said nothing.

"Fine."

She went to turn away, cheeks burning; and he grabbed her arm. "Blair." They stared at each other. Practically begging each other, even though neither wanted to back down. It was Chuck who finally swallowed. "Did you mean it?" He was raw, almost harsh.

And she backed down immediately.

Her eyes held his as he waited, struggling to breathe. "I said so, didn't I?" she whispered, and her eyes were unbearably soft now. Pained as she watched and waited, and he couldn't stop his heart pounding, soaring with hope as he gazed down at her.

She moved a little closer, and he allowed his hands to graze her bare arms, towel slipping slightly; "I..."

"Blair! What on earth are you doing in there?"

They both froze at the impatient knocking on the door. Chuck bit back a groan of furious frustration. Could Eleanor not let her be for five minutes? But his eyes didn't leave hers, because he wasn't about to let that stop him -

And the door handle leading to the pool started to turn, and, hissing under her breath, Blair yanked open the other door and shoved him, hard, out into the corridor. The door slammed in his face.

He stood there, listening as Eleanor marched in and started berating her daughter for wasting time, before dragging her back to the pool.

Opportunity gone.

* * *

"Mr. Bass."

It was the last dinner on board; they would be landing in Southampton early the next morning. Eleanor was cordial, though the rigid layer of frost had yet to dissipate. Unfortunately for her, the dinner seating plan made contact with the Basses unavoidable.

"Mrs. Waldorf." Bart took her hand; he was smart enough to keep the distance that she required.

Chuck sat down opposite Blair, catching the gleam at her throat. His eyes widened, slightly, staring at it. The diamond necklace.

Eleanor followed his gaze and smiled thinly; "Beautiful, isn't it? It was left in our room anonymously." Her gaze skimmed her daughter. "Blair seems to think it's an apology from Mr. Baizen."

Blair cleared her throat, still glancing at Chuck. "For Nate. I assume he felt guilty about his...faux pas, the other day." Chuck stared.

"Well," Eleanor sniffed, "As I said, a diamond necklace is a touch extravagant." But she couldn't deny that it was gorgeous, and she couldn't quite bring herself to tell her daughter to send back something so beautiful.

"Perhaps the business with that girl shook him up more than he'd expected," Chuck said hollowly, still staring at Blair and the diamonds nestled on her collarbone. He couldn't believe he'd got it back.

He felt Bart frown next to him. They both knew Eleanor would insist on returning it if she knew whose it really was. And Chuck could _feel _the weight of Bart's disapproval - something else he'd managed to mess up. Still, at least it wasn't gone forever. And Blair knew - and Blair was wearing it. Really, that was all that mattered.

Bart waited till the end of the meal before addressing Eleanor. "Would you care to join us for a drink, Mrs Waldorf?"

She stiffened a little. "Actually, I think Blair's rather tired. And we have an early start tomorrow."

Chuck glanced at his father; he knew he wasn't about to take no for an answer. Bart never backed down. "I'm sure one of the custodians could escort Blair back to her room. I only want a few minutes of your time."

Eleanor sighed. Truthfully, she was in a better mood - Bart had been playing it well, maintaining just the right distance; and even Charles had been reserved, almost contrite. She still wasn't convinced she could trust him though. Trust, once lost, took a long time to regain in Eleanor Waldorf's books.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Very well. But only a few minutes." She summoned one of the women over - a large, stout maid that looked capable of restraining Blair physically if necessary, and gave her her instructions. Basically, she was not to let Blair out of her sight.

Blair tried to protest, furious, but Eleanor silenced her with a sharp look. "I'm only concerned for your welfare, dear. Good night."

Once they'd risen and Blair had been led off, eyes snatching one final time back to Chuck, Bart held out his arm to Eleanor. "After you."

If Chuck could get to the maid, he was sure he could pay her enough to -

"Come on, Charles."

Chuck stared at his father in disbelief; Eleanor, meanwhile, looked satisfied. Far better that she didn't let the boy out of her sight. Bart ignored Chuck's look, motioning with his head for him to follow.

Once in the bar, he ordered his son to get them both drinks. Simmering, Chuck obeyed.

And with both their children out of the way - and safely out of each other's way, too - Bart and Eleanor faced each other.

"Am I correct in thinking that you plan on going straight to Paris?" Bart's tone was cool, cordial; but the gleam in his eyes was business. No more stepping around each other.

Eleanor was equally straight. "Yes," she answered flatly. "You are."

Bart nodded. He seemed to have accepted this. "Then allow me to apologise for what happened, since I haven't done so yet. I'm aware of the position that Charles put both you and your daughter in, and for that I'm truly sorry."

Eleanor sniffed. "I'm not entirely sure it's you who should be apologizing," she responded coldly. But she accepted the apology. "Bart," she sighed, "I don't know _what _happened between them. But rushing Blair was clearly a mistake. There is something wrong with my daughter, and she needs to be kept safe. Can you understand that?"

Bart bowed his head briefly. "Yes." His eyes glinted with steel as he fixed them on Eleanor. "But I can assure you that my son is in love with her. And that he's not going to give up. He will wait as long as is necessary."

Eleanor's eyes softened, for the fraction of a second. "Very well." She drew herself upright. "He will wait, then." She nodded at Bart, an understanding between the two of them. "Good night." And with that, she left.

Chuck came back, drinks in hand, and was frustrated beyond belief as he saw Eleanor was no longer there. "What did she say?" he demanded. Or rather, what had his father said?

Bart remained impassive. "They're going straight to Paris." Chuck's heart sank. He didn't realise quite how much he'd been holding onto the hope that Bart would somehow manage to fix it till now. Bart spared him a glance. "It's for the best, Charles. Blair needs some space."

Since when had his father taken into account _anything_ that Blair needed? "But-"

"Go to bed. We have an early start tomorrow."

* * *

That night, Blair had a nightmare. It was hardly a surprise, really - given that all that had happened was unlikely to leave the forefront of her mind any time soon, it was bound to creep into her dreams one way or another.

But she'd never had a nightmare quite this bad. It wasn't the usual Serena stealing her spotlight, Serena picking everyone else over her, Serena siding with Eleanor, public humiliation or being the last one chosen. Those were the only nightmares she'd ever had before.

This dream started off beautifully enough; she was ascending a stair case of clouds in a beautiful white dress, golden light abound. Ascending to a halo of golden hair and eyes as blue as the sky around them. Nate's sweet face gazed down at her, his warm embrace waiting to enfold her.

And then someone seized her arm, wrenching it in an agonising pain; and she came face to face with manic blue eyes, a twisted smile and dark curls; a brunette in the same white dress she wore, but filthy and stained - and the light wasn't golden, but glaring and firey - and she was being dragged down, away from Nate, the pain in her arm almost unbearable as Nate simply shook his head, refusing to help her. The judgement in his eyes clear. And the fire was engulfing her, searing and wrenching her arm -

"Blair!"

She woke to Eleanor's panicked shaking. Her mother's eyes were actually narrowed in fear, the room flooded with light, as she held her daughter. Blair struggled to sit up, almost panting, voice hoarse from crying out in her sleep. No doubt what had alerted Eleanor.

Her mother's voice was high in alarm, practically a hiss. "What happened?"

Blair closed her eyes, trying to restore her breathing to normal and banish the image of the fire. Her arm was still throbbing. "I had a bad dream," she croaked. Her eyes filled with tears, against her will; how pathetic _was_ she?

She buried her face in her mother's lap, something she hadn't done - well, for as long as she could remember. Breathing in the familiar scent of her perfume.

Eleanor stroked her hair, deeply perturbed as she glanced down at her shuddering shoulders.

"Mother," she whispered at last, tears still threatening; stupid nightmare and stupid fear and stupid pain and the guilt, the - "I'm not fine." Her voice shook.

Eleanor was silent, hand still running over her daughter's curls.

"I know," she said, very softly. "I know."

* * *

The next morning dawned cold and bright as the docks of Southampton loomed on the horizon. The ship was a flurry of activity; bags packed and belongings gathered, the holds checked and the engines, ropes and gangplanks readied for landing. The more superstitious passengers were crossing themselves from relief at a safe passage.

The Basses and Waldorfs were not among them. They'd gathered on the deck, bags already packed and among the first in the queue for descending, to watch England approach.

And the closer they drew, the further away Blair's chance to talk to Chuck slipped. Once they landed, there was no doubt she'd be bundled straight into a waiting car. Her eyes slid to Eleanor's.

"Mother," she began, desperately -

Eleanor nodded, cutting her off. "Go and say goodbye to the Basses."

Quietly, relieved, Blair approached them. Chuck's eyes were burning into hers, though she addressed Bart first out of politeness. Aware that her mother was still watching her. "I just wanted to say thank you, Mr. Bass. And wish you well in London."

Bart answered his own thanks; "It's been a pleasure."

"I was wondering if I could have a word with Charles?" Polite; she was so polite. Chuck had already taken in the paleness of her face, the even more pronounced shadows under her eyes. She looked worse than she had yesterday. And he was aching, all over - just a _moment_ to speak to her, just the two of them -

"Don't be too long, Charles." Bart inclined his head, and Blair gratefully slid her arm into Chuck's (who would've taken her regardless of what Bart said). Heart thumping as they moved to the edge of the railings, out of their parents' sight and hearing.

As soon as they were alone, Chuck's hand wrapped around hers, fingers hot and familiar. "Blair-"

She shook her head, stopping him. "I want to go to France."

He stared at her. "Why?" His voice was low and full of pain, eyes desperately searching hers.

"I think...my mother is actually right, for once. I need time."

"Time for what?" he protested, gripping her hand tighter. He couldn't lose her. Not now. "Blair," he said; and his voice cracked a little, low and determined as he took a deep breath. "I love you."

She gazed up at him, at his eyes holding hers, practically begging her. And she felt that sting of tears again. "I know," she whispered. She managed a painful, heartbreaking smile; "I love you too." This time she made no effort to wipe the single tear that slipped out, tracking her cheek. And his heart should have been soaring with those words, but it was the bitterest sweetness he'd ever tasted. Because he could tell that she was already resolved. "Now isn't the right time," she murmured.

He bit down, hard, on his jaw, hand still squeezing hers.

Her eyes slipped away for a moment. "I don't expect you to wait," she managed to force out.

He smiled, so sad that it was almost a grimace. "I've waited this long," he shook his head. "I can wait a bit longer." But he could tell she was still unconvinced, still balancing dangerously close to crying even as she attempted a smile. "If two people are meant to be together," he said, very softly, "Eventually they'll find their way back to each other."

Her lip trembled, burning eyes searching his face. "Do you really believe that?" Almost a whimper.

He smiled again, even though his chest physically hurt. "I do."

And he did, when her eyes shone with that much gratitude; that much hope. How could he not?

He pulled her closer, almost gently, breathing her in. Their lips brushed, lingered; and he could taste the salt of her tears. One hand buried in her curls, tucking the hair behind her ear as she pressed her forehead momentarily into his shoulder.

She pulled away first. Her fingers brushed his face, curling around his cheek. She didn't need to tell him how much she'd miss him. It was written all over both of them.

When the ship finally drew into Southampton, and the gangplanks lowered, the Bass and Waldorf parties descended first; mother and daughter striding ahead while father and son kept the rear. Already separated.

And once their bags were collected, Eleanor gave a final nod to Bart before the parties divided once and for all.

* * *

**Again, sorry this has taken so long. Dialogue lifted from 4x08. Please don't kill me for such a depressing chapter! I promise, it will only get better from here :) **


	15. Chapter 15

"Blair bear! Time for dinner."

Blair glanced up from the novel she'd been reading. She was curled in the window seat of her father's town house, snow drifting outside as tried to engross herself in a sappy romance. She hadn't reached the happy ending yet, and she'd already lost all patience with the plot. The heroine was particularly grating; weak and humble and infuriatingly _good. _

"Blair?"

Harold was gazing down at her, eyebrows raised. She managed a smile. "Coming."

Eleanor had disappeared to visit old friends; and Blair should have been grateful for the days she got with her father - just the two of them in the house. He'd spoiled her, as expected. Spent every day buying her presents, having her favourite foods prepared, taking her ice skating and sightseeing around Paris.

It was...easy, as she'd imagined. Relaxing, certainly. And painful.

She hadn't expected to miss _him_ this much. She'd expected the nightmares to stop - and they were less frequent, but she still felt sick every time she thought about Nate.

And it killed her, having no idea what _he _was doing; how was she supposed to miss her dead husband when she was pining for _him_? And since when did Blair Waldorf pine?

Paris was a change of scene, and it still wasn't enough. Going ice-skating had reminded her of the winters the four of them - she, Nate, Serena, and _him - _had done the same thing. Naturally athletic Nate had found it easy; Serena had squealed and slid about all over the place, snowflakes catching in her golden hair; and Chuck - Chuck had stood on the edge and refused to come out. He didn't have a daddy who'd teach him how to skate. It had thrilled her; finally, something she had experience in that Chuck didn't. (Something she excelled in that Serena didn't). She'd been all too eager to grip Chuck's hands and - half coax, half drag - him onto the ice.

And the more she thought about it, the more she struggled to find a single memory that didn't have Chuck in it. He saturated her every recollection. And that simply _couldn't _be true; there had been days with Nate, days with Serena - days that blurred into a golden haze, and she was terrified that she was forgetting Nate already.

If she hadn't gone to Georgina - if she hadn't found out about Nate and Serena; would any of this even have happened? She'd never have kissed Chuck, she was certain.

She could still be happily married to Nate, surely, and not have a single thought about Chuck beyond the dark temptation that she'd always managed to ignore before. Couldn't she?

She'd still have her best friend.

Whoever said ignorance was bliss surely had a point. But Blair _hated _being ignorant of anything. She had to know it all, and know it now. So there was no use even speculating.

And the was still that tiny voice, reminding her nastily that Nate had loved Serena more than he'd ever loved her. How could he not?

"Blair." Her father interrupted her thoughts as she pushed the lamb around on her plate. He was still gazing down at her with that slightly quizzical, concerned expression.

"Sorry?"

"I was saying," he chuckled, "That a letter came for you today."

A frown crossed her features. "From who?"

Harold just shrugged. "The forwarding address said somewhere in London?"

Her fork clattered to the table, making him glance up in surprise. "Where is it?"

He blinked, entirely taken aback by her tone of voice. "Well, I left it in the hall with-"

She was already on her feet, excusing herself. Harold looked after her in bemusement; but, unlike Eleanor, simply shrugged again and returned to his dinner. For now.

Heart thumping, she hurried into the hall and seized the envelope addressed to her on the table. But, as her eyes flickered over her name, her heart sank. She didn't know whose the writing was - but it definitely wasn't his.

So who on earth would send her something England? Bart, perhaps? Making another bid to marry her off to his son? Even that seemed farfetched.

She slit the envelope, pulling out the enfolded letter. The writing was bold and flawless; clearly someone educated. She scanned straight to the end; and, for a split second her heart jumped to her throat as she saw the initials C.B.

Until she read the name printed underneath. Carter Baizen.

Why the hell was _he _sending her a letter? She flickered back up to the beginning. Was this some sort of sick joke?

Her confusion deepened when she realized her name was written at the top in a different handwriting - and this one she _did_ recognise. The familiar curve that belonged to only one Bass. But the rest of the letter was, unmistakably, someone else's writing. Carter's, presumably.

_I'm sure the last thing you want to read is a letter from me, but don't rip this up yet. If it stops you - this was originally a letter from your beloved Bass. It was fairly amusing watching him starting the same letter over and over again, only to throw it away before he'd even got beyond your name. Luckily I salvaged this one. _

_I won't pretend I'm writing because I care about either of you. Well, certainly not Bass. Although watching him brood alone day after day really is getting tedious. I'm sure you'll be pleased to know he's making my life at Bass Industries hell. I think it's the only thing giving him any pleasure. Not that I'll be quitting any time soon, since you know I can't. _

_No doubt a well-informed lady such as yourself has heard the recent rumours of war. Point being, Bass is trying to convince his father to get you packed off home. An over-reaction, as ever - but of use to me. _

_And don't fret, I realise you owe me nothing. But I do know you love Serena, bastard love child with your husband or not. As you know, my contract prevents me from returning home any time soon. But I maintain the use of a private investigator at home. His name is Andrew Taylor, and his address is 127, Fifth Avenue. The reason I'm telling you this is that I want you to use him to find Serena. I'm sure you doubt my intentions, but I can promise you that all I want to do is keep her safe. I'm aware she has money for now, but that will no doubt run out eventually - by which time I'll be back with my trust fund. _

_Don't bother denying that you want to find her - it will save all of us so much time. I'm giving you use of my investigator to do so. He's the best in New York - and if you don't believe me, I stole his services from the great Bart Bass himself. Not even they have a better one any more. _

_I doubt you're prepared to do anything for me - all I'm asking is that you at least mention my offer to Serena when you find her._

_And if you could hurry up and work out whatever the latest issue is between you and Bass, it would be greatly appreciated. The sooner he's back in New York with you, and off my back, the better. He really is the most miserable company at the moment. It's even more pathetic than usual. _

_Sincerely (believe it or not),_

_Carter Baizen._

Blair just stared. She had to re-read the letter a couple of times to fully comprehend what she was seeing.

"Blair?"

She looked up from the sheet, clutched tightly in her hand, to her father's gentle face.

"What is it?"

"Is it true?" she struggled. "Have there been rumours of war, daddy?"

Because she _hadn't_ been well-informed of late; she'd practically cut herself off from the outside world.

Harold's eyes creased instantly. "Who told you that?"

"Is it true?" she insisted, ignoring him. Her eyes were wide.

Harold sighed. "It's just speculation, Blair bear. Tensions with Germany." His smile was warm, reassuring. "But don't worry - I've booked a return for you and Eleanor next week. You'll be well out of the way if it does come to anything. Which is highly unlikely."

She stared at him, incredulous. "When were you planning on telling me this?" She _never_ shouted at her father.

Harold's eyes creased again. He didn't reprimand her for her tone, however; simply seemed concerned. "I was going to tell you tonight. I only decided today, darling - I didn't want to worry you." He held out his arms, still reassuring - "But you're going to be fine."

"I'm sure _I'm _going to be fine," she practically screeched. "What about - you?" For starters.

Harold chuckled. "Are you worried about your father?" He shook his head, still trying to calm her down - but she failed to see how this was remotely funny. "My darling, they're only rumours."

"But why can't you come back to New York too?" Her voice choked a little bit. Because it was the question she'd asked, over and over again, ever since he'd left.

He stroked her hair. "Well I will, if the situation gets any worse. Don't worry, I'm well looked after here. My evacuation will be top priority. But I highly doubt it will come to that."

Which hadn't answered her question at all.

"But what about England?" she whispered.

Harold blinked in confusion. He gazed down at his daughter; and then, slowly, as something dawned on him, his expression changed to gentle understanding. "The Bass boy is in London, isn't he?" He cupped her face. "What happened between the two of you, Blair bear?"

She pulled herself away, out of his grasp. "Nothing," she snapped instantly.

Harold raised an eyebrow.

And she felt that stupid sting of tears all over again as she turned away from him. "My husband's barely been dead for two months. Why can't you leave me alone?"

"Blair," Harold said, very tenderly; but Blair refused to listen to him.

"I'm going to bed."

"Your dinner-"

"I'm not hungry," she said hastily. "Good night, daddy." And she turned away and stopped herself from crying all in one movement, escaping to her room.

Slowly, Harold picked up the letter that had fallen from her hand. Frowning, he started to read.

* * *

"Father." Chuck stood before his father's desk, where he'd been summoned. "You wanted to see me."

Bart glanced up briefly from the documents in font of him. "There's a letter from France." He nodded at the envelope on the corner of his desk before returning to his own reading.

It was all Chuck could do not to snatch it from its place. The forwarding address was the Waldorf townhouse, but the writing wasn't hers. Which was probably the only thing that saved the letter from ripping in his eagerness to read it. He frowned.

And his confusion only deepened when he saw that it was from Harold Waldorf.

"Well?"

Bart didn't even bother looking up from his papers this time.

Chuck was still frowning. "It's Blair's father. He says she's refusing to go home." His eyes narrowed in disbelief; how weak _was_ Harold? This was her safety, for God's sake. "He doesn't know what to do."

Bart evidently shared Chuck's opinion. His tone was indifferent, with the thinnest layer of scorn. "He can't control his own daughter?"

"Can anyone?" Chuck muttered wryly. It _was_ Blair, after all.

He was still scanning the letter, and didn't see Bart glance up, or the expression on his face as he gazed for a moment at his son.

"Father." Chuck shook his head, slightly. "I have to go to France."

Bart had returned to his documents. "You'll do no such thing. You have a responsibility here."

"She can't _stay_ there."

"And how do you propose to convince her, if her own father can't?" Bart turned the page, checking the next sheet of numbers.

"I'll drag her onto that ship, if I have to," Chuck snarled.

This was met with a look of unimpressed disdain. "I'm glad I've raised such a gentleman."

"She's being ridiculous!"

Bart looked at him coolly, apparently unmoved by his frustration. "Charles, I put you in charge here. You have a duty to oversee the work I designated. Not run off to Paris." He glanced at the next row of numbers. "You've actually been doing a good job so far. Don't make me regret my decision."

Chuck bit his tongue. "What if she doesn't go?" he managed at last, almost a growl.

Bart simply shrugged. "Then it's her own decision, and no concern of yours."

Chuck glanced down at the floor for the briefest moment, shoulders tight, before leveling his stare at his father. Back straight.

"I'm going to France," he said, flatly. "And I'm not coming back till she's on that ship."

Bart didn't even look up. "In that case, don't bother coming back. I'll see you in New York."

Chuck hesitated, unable to believe - even now - how unreasonable his father was being. Bart _couldn't_ just remove him from the account, not after all the work he'd put in. Except - he was Bart, and he could.

"Fine," Chuck spat. He turned on his heel and strode out, trying not to shake. He really should've learnt by now not to expect any more from his father. He'd made his decision.

Bart glanced up as the door slammed shut, listening to his son stalk down the corridor. He smiled, ever so faintly, and turned back to his documents.

* * *

Blair glanced up at the gentle knock on her door. Harold's head appeared, followed by a tray of breakfast. "Can I come in?"

She nodded almost warily, scooting up the bed to make room for him. "Daddy," she said firmly, "You're not going to change my mind."

He raised his hands in defence. "I know, I know. That's not why I'm here." His expression softened as he gazed down at his only daughter, pale and pinched in her white nightgown. "I just want to talk."

She paused. Her father had never sounded so serious. The truth was, they didn't _talk_. Not like that. They talked about Blair's favourite things, and Harold's favourite things, and Blair chattered on sunnily about her new dress, or the party she'd been to, and Harold entertained her with delightful stories while she listened contentedly. She was his little girl; his favourite princess - and she never wanted that impression to change. The closest to serious they got was when Blair cried about an argument with Serena, and Harold cuddled her and told her everything would be all right. Or sharing a wink whenever Eleanor started on the criticism.

So how could she start telling him just how imperfect everything really was? The mess she'd somehow managed to make of her life?

"Daddy." She attempted a smile. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you, I'm not going home until you do."

"Or until Chuck does?"

She froze.

Harold just smiled at her. "Blair," he said very gently, "He's just as much a part of your life as Nate was. It's all right for you to love him."

She stared at him. He had no idea, of course - all he knew was that they'd grown up together. That was what he was basing this on.

Harold nudged her, gently. "Do you remember when you first met him?" This earned him a look of surprise, and he chuckled. "Because I do. You came to me in floods of tears because the little boy with the brown eyes had pulled out one of your plaits. And you cried all night because you thought he didn't like you."

Blair flushed. "I did not!" Blair Waldorf was not that weak. Even at four. "He ruined my hair." Trust four year-old Chuck Bass to be that mean.

Harold continued to smile. "Do you remember what he said when I asked him why he'd done it? He said he just liked your hair."

Blair did remember. And she remembered how thrilled she'd been - someone liked_ her _hair, and not the glorious golden that was Serena's. More than that, though - she'd recognised it. Her father had bought her a gorgeous doll with luscious curls that she'd been obsessed with. Always pulling and threading them through her fingers, playing with them till once day, to her horror, they'd come apart in her hands. And her little four year-old self had been so appalled and ashamed that she'd hidden the doll and told no one, vowing not to play with any of her toys again. So they'd stayed, safe and pristine, in their places. Till Serena had come into her room and exclaimed that she'd never _seen_ more unloved toys - and a toy that had never been played with was far worse than a broken one.

"I don't think I've ever seen you cheer up that quickly."

Blair scowled. "Everyone likes to be complimented." It didn't _mean_ anything.

"My point is," Harold chuckled, "That you cared about him even then. And that was before you'd even met Nate."

And Blair _did_ remember; she'd known Chuck first. Even if it was by just a few days. There had been a Chuck and Blair before there was a Nate and Blair - but what did that matter? They'd been four. She studied her father, surprised that_ he_ even remembered that.

"Daddy," she smiled quietly. "Not that I don't love reminiscing my childhood, but it's hardly relevant any more." She'd chosen Nate. She'd married Nate. "I love Nate," she said, softly. "Always have, always will."

"I know you do," Harold consoled, carefully. "But that doesn't mean you can't be in love with someone else."

Blair narrowed her eyes slightly. She didn't want to go down that route. That was the route adulterers picked to make themselves feel better about cheating. A cheater was cheater. And she was just that. No excuses. It wasn't Harold's fault he didn't realise.

(And something pricked, silently, because she had the feeling that Harold wasn't just talking about her. And she definitely didn't want to go down _that _route).

Harold tilted his head. "Think of it this way. If it had been the other way around - God forbid - would you want Nate to live alone and miserable for the rest of this life?"

Blair bit her lip. See, this was where Harold's mistake became a problem. Because Harold was working on the assumption that Blair was a good person; he had no idea how selfish she really was. Of_ course _she'd want Nate to mourn for her for the rest of his life. She'd expect pale graveside visits, and fresh flowers every year. Tears every anniversary. No one to ever take her place.

Wouldn't she?

And then the image crossed her mind of Chuck, alone for the rest of his life. Passing each day in scotch-fuelled haze, sleeping with empty conquest after empty conquest. Maybe she was flattering herself. But the idea of_ that_ hurt her so much she could hardly breathe. Because she knew that if she died, she wouldn't get flowers and beautiful tragedy from Chuck. She'd get anger. All-consuming, soul-destroying fury that she'd left him. She knew because that was exactly what _she'd_ get if _he _died.

And the truth was, she simply couldn't imagine a tragic Nate. A Nate with no warmth, crying by an empty grave. That wouldn't be Nate.

"No," she whispered at last. No, she wouldn't.

"Do you want to know something?" Her gaze returned to her father's. "I thought your marrying Nate was a mistake."

She reeled backwards instantly. No. That _wasn't _what she wanted to hear. Not now, not ever. Because if it had been a mistake, then it had cost her Chuck - cost her Serena - for nothing. And she simply couldn't face that.

Since when did her father suddenly have an opinion? Her father didn't have a clue what he was talking about. He tried to still her, catching her arm. "I know you loved him. We all did. But he wasn't perfect, Blair bear. And you thought he was." Harold shook his head as Blair closed her eyes tightly, trying to block out what he was saying. "But you've always known Chuck wasn't perfect."

Blair's eyes snapped open at that. "What does that have to do with _anything_?" Nate was perfect; more perfect than she would ever be. He was kind, and loyal, and true - and just _good. _And oblivious, at times, and sometimes careless. Much like her father.

This was _why _they never had serious conversations. Harold was an idealist; a hopeless romantic with no grip on the real world. _He _was the one who saw perfection where there was none - how else could he love her?

"I had an affair," Blair finally snapped. There, that had wiped the smile of his face. "With Chuck."

Harold stared at her, and Blair realised she'd gone too far. Too far. Too far to go back. Harold was staring at her with disbelief; and there was no more humor in his eyes. No more gentle understanding.

Just like she'd secretly known all along. She'd always been terrified that if he knew who she really was, he wouldn't love her.

What had she _done_? She shook her head, trying to save herself now, too late. "Daddy-"

But Harold had withdrawn. He was still looking at her as if he didn't recognise her as he got to his feet. And maybe he didn't.

"I think perhaps you should stay in your room today," he finally managed, very stiffly.

"But-"

He shook his head, and he couldn't even look at her with the stunned disappointment in his eyes. "Just...don't."

And he left her.

* * *

Chuck came to a stop as he saw Eleanor crossing the same street he was. Headed for the same townhouse. She'd seen him too, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

"Charles? What on earth are you doing here?"

Chuck lowered his head respectfully, though his eyes were set. "Making sure Blair gets on that ship." His gaze appraised her; polite, but challenging. He wouldn't let her stop him.

Eleanor sighed. "Well, good. Maybe you can help me talk some sense into her. I don't know what her father's thinking, indulging her this way." She straightened her skirts, every inch the mistress of the house that wasn't hers, before rapping on the door. Imperious as ever. "I'll soon put a stop to _that_."

They were met by a maid that Eleanor brushed past as though she didn't exist. Chuck followed, half amused. "Where is my daughter?" she demanded. "And her fool of a father?"

The maid flushed. "Miss Blair is in her room. And Mr. Harold-"

"In her room?" Eleanor repeated incredulously. "It's past midday!" She dropped her bag with a decisive snap. "Right. This has gone on long enough." She started up the corridor. "Come along, Charles. _In her room_, indeed."

At that moment Harold appeared, presumably to see what all the commotion was about. He seemed taken aback to see (however questionably) his wife. "What's going on?"

"What's going on," Eleanor snapped, "Is that, as usual, this house has turned to chaos the second I leave it. When are you going to learn, Harold, that letting Blair get away with whatever she pleases is _not_ the way to parent her? Am I correct in thinking that she's still in _bed_?"

Harold drew himself upright. "Yes, she is. And she's staying there." His eyes fell on Chuck; and Chuck realised with a jolt that the man's face had darkened. Chuck had never seen any expression other than a smile from Harold Waldorf.

"Well that's a wonderful idea, Harold. Yes, let's leave Blair in her room while Germany invades. I'm sure she'll be fine."

"Those are only rumours-"

"Oh, wake up!" Eleanor's nostrils flared. "You're welcome keep your head in the sand about everything else, but not this. Now move, please. I'm going to sort that girl out." She strode past them, adding as an after thought, "Charles, keep Blair's father occupied while I deal with her."

That was the last thing Chuck wanted to do. Especially when Blair was only a flight of stairs away. But Eleanor was apparently talking to him again - and it was probably best not to push it. For now. He'd get to Blair, one way or another.

"You've got a lot of cheek," Harold said quietly, once Eleanor had gone. "Coming here."

Chuck paused. Presumably Harold had heard about what had happened on the Olympic. But he wasn't about to back down; because he hadn't done anything wrong - not that night. "Sir," he began, "I assure you I can explain-"

"That you had an _affair_ with my daughter?" Chuck had never seen such quiet anger from the man.

"I-" No, that he couldn't explain. He swallowed, his voice low. It didn't even matter how Harold had found out. "I'm sorry."

Harold just shook his head. He gazed almost blankly out of the window, no longer looking at Chuck. "I didn't raise my daughter to be a cheater."

At that, Chuck's gaze snapped up. He couldn't help it. There was something about the way Harold said the word _daughter_ that twisted something unpleasant inside him. "Really?" he sneered, lip curling against his own will. "Is that what you're doing in Paris?"

Harold's eyes widened. "How dare you?" He stared at the boy, voice shaking with anger. "Get out of my house."

"So you're allowed to make mistakes," Chuck asked flatly, "And Blair isn't?"

"I may have made mistakes," Harold snapped, "But she's my daughter. She's a child." He shook his head. "Or she was. Now I don't even know any more." He looked at Chuck. "What have you done to my little girl?"

"Blair is Blair." Chuck was harsh, almost seething. "And if you don't see that and love that by now, then you're a fool." He didn't give Harold a chance to reply, scoffing. "Although it's hardly a surprise, since you haven't even been there."

"And you were?" Harold demanded. "While she was married to - your best friend, was he not?" A sharpness there that Chuck had never seen before. He'd almost forgotten Harold was a lawyer.

"Blair never broke her marriage vows," Chuck corrected. He didn't need to add _unlike you_. "And I'm here now." He stared right back at the man. "You abandoned her. So why are you not the one begging for her forgiveness?"

Harold looked like he'd been physically slapped. "I didn't _abandon_ her-" he started, stricken - but Chuck just looked at him.

No, Chuck had no right to judge anyone. But Harold needed to hear this, since no one else was going to tell him. And Chuck couldn't stomach it; couldn't stomach the man Blair adored to the point of worship letting her down. Eleanor may have been cruel - she may have been an awful mother, but she at least _knew _her daughter. And accepted that. How could Harold not, after knowing Blair her whole life?

Eleanor reappeared at that very moment.

"Well," she said briskly, point blank ignoring the tension on the room, "She's getting washed and dressed. But it would seem you've spoiled her so much, Harold, that she's lost the ability to listen to anything. She's still refusing to go home. I have no idea why, but you've somehow got it into her head that she has to stay in her room." She turned to Chuck in exasperation. "Since it's obvious her father is incapable, Charles, please go and inform her that unless she moves, I will hire someone to drag her by her hair if necessary. I may even ask you to do it yourself." She shook her head; "If she's going to act like a child, she'll be treated like one."

Chuck shot a final look at Harold, but the man was silent.

So he followed Eleanor's request, grateful beyond words, and went to talk some sense into her.

* * *

**Thank you for your reviews; I'm so grateful people are still reading! Apologies for lack of C/B interaction...coming up next chapter :)**

**Also, a quick note about Harold's initial reaction to Nate and Chuck - I always got the impression, for some reason, that Harold wasn't a huge fan of Nate in the show. Something about the way he says 'Nate the great!' in the 1x09 Thanksgiving flashback. Like he never quite bought into the way Blair and Eleanor adored him. Anyway, I hope that makes sense in this story. **


	16. Chapter 16

Chuck pushed open the door to Blair's bedroom. Her covers were rumpled - clearly recently slept in - and he could hear the water running from her en suite. He moved across the room, noting the untouched breakfast tray on her bedside table, and knocked on the bathroom door.

There was a pause, then the sound of the water being switched off and Blair calling, "Come in." Even through the wall, her voice was empty.

He twisted the handle. Blair was staring into the mirror, seemingly focused, shoulders drawn as she brushed with careful listlessness through her curls.

She jumped when she saw who it was, freezing away from the mirror completely as her eyes widened. "Chuck." She stared at him. "What are you doing here?" She'd washed her face well, but she couldn't quite hide the tear stains on her cheeks; her brown eyes moved over him, breath catching in her throat.

His eyes fell to the brush clutched in her hand, so tight that her knuckles were white. He took a step closer, going to tug it out of her grasp - she jumped as the heat of his hand covered hers, practically dropping the brush into his hold.

He placed it on the counter with a faint smile, while she stared. "Just avoiding another...accident," he explained drily. She'd hit him with a hairbrush once before, the last time he'd made fun of her innocence. And when he'd howled with pain, smirkingly told him it was an accident.

But she wasn't smirking now. "What are you doing here?" she repeated, even though she'd never been more grateful to see him. Because she wanted to bury herself in his heat, and she hated herself for it. And she was very aware of the state he was seeing her in.

"What are _you_ doing?" he responded. His voice was low as his eyes studied her. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

She stiffened. "I'm not." She lifted her chin; she'd deny it a thousand times before she told him why. She didn't need to.

"You're better than this," he told her bluntly. And by this, he meant her father. Harold didn't even _deserve _her love.

"I'm _not_." Her lip curled savagely as she shook her head. Her fingers tightened on the skirt of dress, running unconsciously over the pattern. One of the many dresses Harold had bought her. She wasn't even sure he'd want to see her in it any more. "I'm a horrible person." She looked up at him; he was the one person who'd always known that.

The expression on the face was hard to read as he gazed back down at her. His mouth was set, and she couldn't make sense of it - couldn't understand how he could look at her with that much love. "You're Blair Waldorf." It didn't matter who she'd married; because she was and always would be Blair Waldorf. "No one tells you who you are," he reminded her, flatly. "You tell them."

It wasn't an inspiring pep talk. It was the truth.

She shook her head again. "You don't understand-"

"I _do_ understand," he snapped, and his eyes flashed this time as he grabbed her wrist, stopping her from leaving. How could he ever not understand when it came to Blair Waldorf?

"Harold knows," she whispered. And the way her father had looked at her -

"That you're not an angel? Then it took him long enough." He didn't loosen his grip, eyes holding hers. "You're Blair Waldorf," he repeated. "That's enough." It was _more_ than enough.

He didn't let her go till she finally backed down, quiet - till the look in her eyes faded to uncertainty as she stared at him.

"It's enough."

She closed her eyes, and he felt the tension gradually leave her body.

"I missed you." She wasn't sure where it came from; almost involuntary, barely audible. He squeezed her hand tighter, fingers wrapping round hers as his lip quirked, slightly, a semblance of a smile.

"I know."

She managed a half smile too. She sniffed, wiping her hand across her eyes with a watery eye roll. "I'm under strict orders to be downstairs in five minutes. I'm sure my mother plans to spend the rest of the day telling me how ridiculous I'm being."

"Actually," Chuck smirked, "She sent me upstairs to tell you myself." He narrowed his eyes at her, folding his arms as he remembered exactly why he'd come. "You're not staying here."

This earned him a glare that was a trace more like the Blair he knew. "You can't stop me."

"On the contrary," he retorted. "Eleanor's given me permission to drag you onto the ship myself." He glanced at the dark waves spilling over her shoulders. "By your hair," he added pointedly.

Her eyes widened in outrage. "How very caveman." And, when he snorted, she folded her own arms to glare at him properly. "I've only just got here. I'm not leaving."

"Well, I am." He was still smiling, but all trace of humor had disappeared.

She blinked. "What?" Tried to control her relief - but looking at him, she knew something was wrong. "Why?"

He didn't answer, pushing it off. "The point is, I'm not leaving you. So pack your bags."

She examined him closely. There was only one reason his shoulders could be that tight, his jaw that rigid. "Bart sent you home?" she asked slowly.

He snorted. "Apparently the fact that I wasn't messing anything up for once wasn't enough."

She saw him sitting up straighter at the table, telling them he was handling one of the accounts. "Because you came here." She bit down hard on her lip, staring helplessly into his eyes. The thing was, she wanted him to leave with her. Desperately. But not like this. Not when this was the price. "Chuck, I'm-"

He shook his head, cutting her off. "Please. It's Bart."

Eleanor's voice, echoing from downstairs, interrupted them. "Blair! You were supposed to be down here several minutes ago. Where are you?"

Blair rolled her eyes and called that she was coming. Her gaze slid to Chuck's as something gnawed at her insides. She wasn't even thinking about Harold any more. She needed to fix this.

Chuck nudged her, raising an eyebrow. "Eleanor awaits."

She turned, reluctantly, and he followed.

* * *

"_What_?" Blair ignored her mother's screech; ignored her father, who still couldn't meet her gaze, and glanced at Chuck instead. He was watching silently, expression veiled.

"I'll go home," she repeated. Her voice was tight. "But only if we go to England first."

"You'll go home," Eleanor snapped, "And that's the end of it. You do_ as_ your told, _when_ you're told!"

Blair had never stood up to her mother before. Not properly. She set her shoulders back, gazing straight up at the woman towering over her. "No," she answered. "Not until we've been to London."

Eleanor threw up her hands in exasperation. "That's it. You know, I thought spending time with your father would actually help you. But clearly you're still incapable of acting rationally." She shot a look at Harold, who cleared his throat and continued to studiously brush imaginary dust off his trousers. Rolled her eyes at the lack of support - what else had she expected - and turned to Chuck instead. "She's being ludicrous."

Chuck was looking at Blair carefully, his own brow lowered. "Why?" he asked, talking to her and her alone, voice slow. He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

She glanced back at him, refusing to back down. "It's a beautiful city. And I didn't even get to see it." Her tone was light with determined nonchalance, tilting her head challengingly.

If Eleanor sensed the second layer of communication between the two of them, she didn't show it.

"There you are, Charles, don't bother asking her _why_. God forbid my daughter should actually start making sense." She straightened her skirt. "We are going _home_, Blair. And that's that."

"We're not booked to travel till the end of the week," Blair argued fiercely. "It takes a few hours to cross the channel. We'll easily be back in time. So why not?"

"Oh," her mother seethed, practically jumping on her, "So you've become one of those fools who answer everything with _why not. _I'll tell you why not, young lady - because I say so! I'm not making a pointless journey because you want to look at a few buildings."

Blair knew Eleanor was just being stubborn, of course; she had no real objection to going to London. She just refused to have her plans changed. Let alone by her own daughter.

"Fine," Blair snapped. "Then I'm not going home."

Her mother looked about ready to throttle her. She opened her mouth, clearly intending to start screeching again, but Harold cut her off.

"You're going home."

His stance was a little awkward, but his voice was firm. Unseen, Eleanor rolled her eyes again. So _now_ he decided to parent.

Blair's eyes finally flickered to him, and she swallowed because he still wasn't looking at her, feeling her heart sink to her toes. She made herself ignore it, forced herself to shake her head. "No. I want to go to London." Blair was spoilt, and she knew it - so she knew exactly how to act like a spoilt brat. The difference was that she'd never gone against her parents before. Never needed to, and never been able to. "I want to go to London," she repeated, sharply. "And I'll go by myself if I have to."

"You will _not_. You are going to get on that ship, and-"

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Harold's maid appeared, holding an envelope. "This just arrived for Charles Bass, sir." First class postage.

They all glanced at Chuck in surprise. Chuck accepted it, jaw twitching as he recognised the writing on the front - his father's assistant. He could already take a nasty guess at what was enclosed; and, sure enough, the document inside was a ticket. One journey to New York in three days. The efficiency was impressive, even for Bart.

Eleanor had seen it too. Her eyebrow arched, taken aback for once. "You're going home too, Charles?" She frowned at him. "I thought you'd planned another month here. Is your father all right?"

Blair pressed her lips together, feeling a surge of pure frustration. How was it possible to hate someone else's parent this much?

"He's fine," Chuck answered evenly. "I'm the only one leaving."

Eleanor's frown deepened.

"Bart's sending Chuck home," Blair interrupted, knowing he wouldn't explain - and he opened his mouth to cut her off, sending her clear signals to stop that she purposefully ignored. "Because he came here."

Eleanor's nostrils flared. "What?" Then, as she realised; "You mean her little tantrum has landed you in trouble, Charles?" She rounded on Blair. "Do you see how many problems you've caused?" she demanded crossly. "I don't _believe_ this."

Blair rolled her own eyes, interrupting her fuming. "That's _why_ we need to go to London, mother. To fix this." There was no point pretending any more; not if it got her what she wanted.

Chuck was glaring at her now.

"No," he growled. "You don't." Blair ignored him, so he glanced at Eleanor instead. "My father's decision has nothing to do with you. Bart is Bart."

Eleanor's mouth was a thin line of disapproval. "I'm not having you sent home because my daughter's an idiot, Charles." And she made the decision, just like that. "Right. We're going to London."

Chuck ground his teeth. "There's no point-"

"There is every point," Eleanor corrected snappily. "Blair needs to apologize."

Blair had no intention of apologizing to Bart Bass, but she nodded to appease her mother. "Exactly."

Chuck continued to glare at her.

"Harold," Eleanor instructed, "Go and book us tickets for the ferry. Blair, you can go and pack. And you'd better be quick." Then, when she realised Harold was still standing there - "What are you waiting for? Go!"

Harold frowned. "I really don't think," he stated tightly, "That this is a good idea." He was putting his foot down. "It doesn't have anything to do with us, Eleanor."

For once, Chuck was actually grateful for something the man had said.

Eleanor's eyes narrowed dangerously. She hadn't failed to notice the tension between father and daughter, not to mention the two men - but she really could have cared less what Harold wanted. He'd suddenly picked now to grow a backbone? She knew Harold, and she knew his ways all too well. Determinedly oblivious up until the last moment, which was why his decisions rarely made sense.

"Blair," she ordered, ignoring him, "Go and pack."

Blair paused - Chuck was still glaring at her, and she was all too aware of her father's displeasure - but she'd got what she wanted. Reluctantly, she left to do as she was told.

Chuck went to move after her, scowling, opening his mouth to say he'd help -

"Charles, stay here."

It wasn't a request.

So, glowering, he stayed put. Fine. He knew Blair well enough to know he'd never change her mind - maybe he'd have more luck with Eleanor.

Once Blair had left, Eleanor rounded on both of them. "Would somebody like to tell me what's going on?"

They were silent.

"No," she snapped. "I thought not." And to be honest, she didn't have time for it. "Harold, that is your daughter. You are equally responsible for her, like it or not, and she will apologise. Waldorf women are _not _cowards, and they take responsibility for their actions. So," she added, frowning at Chuck, "She is going to London to do just that." And, when both of them opened their mouths to argue - "That's the end of it." She shooed her husband. "Now go!"

Once Harold had left, muttering darkly to himself, Chuck tried again.

"Eleanor," he said, voice low; and maybe it was the use of her first name that finally made her look at him. "I...appreciate your efforts. But there's nothing to apologise for. I made the decision, and I knew the consequences. My father won't listen. I can tell you that now. He knows what I chose, and I'm not going back on that." He set his jaw, trying to get her to see. "Blair thinks she'll be able to change his mind." His mouth twitched slightly; "And multi-talented though she is...she won't. And I don't want her to."

Because eventually you had to stand up to your parents. Even Chuck Bass, who didn't let anyone control him. And if Bart didn't like it - well, for the first time, Chuck could say he knew he'd made the right decision. Bart could go to hell.

Eleanor was silent as she regarded him. "Very well," she said at last. "But Blair will be apologising nonetheless."

"I'm not going back to England."

Eleanor nodded. "Then we'll see you when we return." Harold reappeared as she added, "You're welcome to stay here in the meantime."

He froze. Chuck glanced at him. He was temped to accept the offer purely to see the look on the man's face, but he shook his head. "Thank you, but there's actually a hotel I planned on visiting." One that Bart had in consideration. "I'll stay there."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Harold intervened. Eleanor frowned at him, but he ignored it. "I've booked two tickets for this evening."

Eleanor was pleased by this, at least. "In that case, Charles, go and help Blair bring her bag down." And, when Harold opened his mouth - "I'd like a word with my husband."

* * *

As soon as Blair saw him, she straightened. "Don't bother, Chuck. You won't change my mind." She folded the last garment into her overnight bag, fastening it. Faced him.

Chuck rolled his eyes. "God forbid anything should change Blair Waldorf's mind." He moved to take the bag from her, setting it down. "What exactly are you hoping to achieve?"

She picked up her coat, smoothing it over her arm. "What did you say to Eleanor?" she asked instead. And, when Chuck raised an eyebrow in confusion - "Well, she's talking to you again. You're back to being perfect Charles." She couldn't help but pull a slight face.

Chuck shrugged; she was right, though. "Nothing. I assume she's just had enough time to calm down." Blair pursed her lips. Realising where her thoughts were heading, he shook his head. "Bart isn't Eleanor."

"Thank you," she answered drily. "I hadn't noticed."

He glowered at her. "Blair-"

"I'm going to London."

"It won't make a difference," he ground, for the final time.

"It will," she snapped back. "Clearly no one else is going to tell Bart how ridiculous he's being." She glared at him, defiantly, and he had to swallow back the sudden rawness to his throat; because she was here, fighting for him, and it didn't even matter that she was wasting her efforts. Someone was fighting for him. _She_ was fighting for him.

Still, he shook his head. "Thank you," he said, very quietly, "But I don't need you to fight my battles."

She snorted. "Well, you're not even trying. Now who's feeling sorry for themselves? Anyway," she tossed her curls without giving him a chance to answer; "Who says I'm going there for you? I actually have another task to accomplish."

Chuck's brow lifted. "_Another_ task?"

It was a task that involved a certain Humphrey, but she'd rather keep Chuck guessing. "Yes," she sniped. "And if you're lucky, I may even tell you about it when I get back." She already knew he wouldn't be going to England with them. But his stubborn pride wasn't about to stop her.

She picked up her bag, dropping it unceremoniously into his hold. "Now come on."

He lifted his eyes heavenwards, following her with bag in hand.

* * *

Chuck left the house at the same time they did, preferring not to linger any longer in there with just Harold Waldorf. If he didn't know any better, he would have said Harold was sulking, anyway - he conveniently had business to attend to when they departed. He saw the briefest flicker of hurt in Blair's eyes as she realised he wasn't even there to say goodbye, but Eleanor's barked orders soon distracted them.

He did wonder what their 'word' had been about, while he'd been talking to Blair. He had an inkling that was more the reason Harold was absent now.

Eleanor gave him a far warmer farewell than she had when they'd left the Olympic, though she pulled Blair along before she could say goodbye properly.

"We'll be seeing him in less than two days," she snapped impatiently. "Come _on_."

Still, Chuck waited till the ferry had disappeared into the horizon before he went his own way.

* * *

When they got to the Bass offices in London, they were shown straight through. Although Blair doubted even the intimidating doorman and concierge would have been able to stop Eleanor. Everything about the building seemed designed to intimidate and impress - the markings of any Bass owned property.

Bart was seated at the vast expanse of his mahogany desk; he rose to his feet as they entered, frowning.

"Eleanor. Blair." He moved forwards to take Eleanor's hand politely, nodding at Blair, though he continued to appraise them. "Is there something wrong?" Immediately, his frown deepened. "Has Charles-"

"Actually, Blair has something to say to you. And I for one would like to apologise on her behalf." Eleanor withdrew her hand from his. "Had I known she'd be causing you and Charles this much trouble, I would have dealt with her sooner." She gave her daughter a pointed look. "Blair?"

Blair looked up, straight into Bart's cold blue eyes, his neatly shaved head and crisp, expensive suit. Despite it all, she could see Chuck in him - saw it in the broad shoulders and piercing, searching stare, concealed emotions and that rigid upright posture Chuck adopted whenever his father was around; such a sharp difference to his usual careless languor.

She didn't know where the thought had come from, but she suddenly found herself wondering if this was who Chuck would become in thirty years. And if it was, she realised, then she needed to know the man in there. Needed to know if there _was _a man in there, and not the infallible titan Chuck saw.

"Why are you sending Chuck home?"

Eleanor inhaled sharply. "Blair-"

"He sent himself home," Bart answered calmly. If he was surprised at her boldness, he didn't show it. "I told him he was to stay here, and he disobeyed me."

"Which is Blair's fault," Eleanor interrupted. She gave her daughter another glare. "I can't say the same for my daughter, but there's no need to punish the boy, Bart."

"It's not a punishment." Bart's voice was just as even, and the coldness was already setting Blair's teeth on edge. "Charles knew what the consequences would be, and he made the choice."

She hated it even more, that Chuck had echoed those same words.

"He was doing a good job," she seethed. "Wasn't he?" She didn't wait for an answer, and she didn't need one. "He was working hard, and doing everything you wanted him to. Is it really that hard," she spat, "To say _well done_?"

She ignored her mother's scandalized hiss, the sharp nudge in her ribs.

Bart regarded her coolly, the heat in her eyes and her curled lip, all five foot nothing of her glaring him down. "Charles knew the consequences," he repeated. "He chose you."

Blair's eyes widened in fury. "So what? This was a test?" Her voice rose. "A test to prove where his loyalties lie?" She shook her head; "You _know_ Chuck, and you _know_ he's never been anything but loyal to you. Or if you don't know that by now - then, quite frankly, you're an idiot."

_"Blair!_" Eleanor yanked her daughter backwards, outraged beyond belief. "I'm sorry, Bart-"

"No," Bart corrected. "Charles has just proved that his loyalty lies with you." He gazed down at her. "Which is what I wanted to see."

It took Blair a second to comprehend what she was hearing, but she recovered - because it wasn't the point. Not if Chuck didn't know that. Not if Bart couldn't _tell_ his son that. "Then let him come back." Her tongue was still just as pointed; "Why send him home?"

Bart glanced over at Eleanor. "Because I am," he answered brusquely.

Blair gritted her teeth. "That's _not_ a reason."

Eleanor had had about enough of her daughter's impudence. "And that's not the way you speak to Mr. Bass," she interrupted, this time pulling on her daughter's arm properly. "That's enough from you. Apologise."

Blair didn't waver. "I'm sorry for being rude," she said icily. "And I'm sorry for being the reason you pushed your son away." Eyes harsh; "Don't punish Chuck because of me."

"I'm not punishing him," Bart reiterated. Like that ended the discussion.

Blair was about to bite back, but Eleanor got there first. "Nonetheless, Bart...I don't see why he couldn't carry on the job he was doing before?" She was polite, but her eyebrows were raised.

"I told you I understood," Bart sighed, "When you said you wanted to keep your daughter safe. So I'd ask you to show me the same consideration when I do so for my son." He straightened the papers on his desk, adjusting his suit. "This venture is going to take longer than two months. Despite Charles' best efforts, the legislation is a nightmare. And the figures aren't what I'd expected. Tensions are too high." His gaze finally shifted to Blair, just for a moment. "I doubt Charles would leave a job unfinished, regardless of the threat of war. So I'm sending him home now."

He was protecting him. Bart was protecting his son.

Blair felt her throat go dry. She stared at him. And she finally saw it - she finally saw the man behind the blue eyes. The closest to Chuck she'd ever got. She bit her lip and nodded, slowly. "All right."

"Well." Eleanor cleared her throat. "Perhaps you'd like to apologise to Bart properly now?"

Blair looked up at him. "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. Not sorry that she'd shouted at him. Not when it was the question of defending Chuck. But she was sorry she'd doubted that the human in Chuck had been inherited from the man before her.

Bart nodded back. "Tell Charles that I'll see him at home." And his eyes asked - commanded - the unspoken; don't tell him why.

Bart really did know Chuck.

* * *

"The city hall?" Eleanor asked, frustrated. Exasperated. "Really, Blair?"

"I just want to see if we have any English relatives."

Her mother clearly didn't believe her for a second. "We came all the way to London for you to look at a collection of dusty records?" Her eyebrows had disappeared so high that they'd practically disappeared.

"It's near Tower Bridge," Blair pointed out. "Where there are the most gorgeous restaurants." She attempted an innocent smile, which didn't even remotely fool her mother. "I thought we could lunch there?"

Eleanor rolled her eyes. Well, it didn't sound too awful an idea. It wasn't like they had anything better planned. And maybe once Blair got whatever nonsense it was out of her system, she'd behave on the trip back to New York. (The ship they'd booked was nowhere near as prestigious as the Olympic, and Eleanor was already dreading it. But it wasn't like they'd had another choice, booking so late).

"Fine," she sighed. "But I'll allow fifteen minutes at the most. And then it's straight out." She wrinkled her nose. "Though quite why you'd want to spend so long in those dark halls, I don't know."

Blair tried hard not to smirk too much.

She did like getting her way.

* * *

They were leaving England early the next morning, so it hadn't been too hard to convince Eleanor a trip to London's most luxurious beauty salon was a perfect idea. She'd already paid the staff enough to keep their mouths closed - well, Chuck didn't _invent_ bribes - and, with Eleanor safely distracted, found it all too easy to slip out.

She'd already arranged a black cab to pick her up, and gave the address she'd written down mere hours before. Damien was an unusual enough name - it hadn't taken her too long to find in the records. The son of an ambassador, apparently.

Kensington was clearly an affluent area - she was impressed, despite herself. At least one Humphrey knew how to do well for herself. The car came to a stop outside a large white townhouse, flanked with wrought iron railing, on a broad, leafy street. Not bad at all. Not New York - but still.

She was let in by a slightly confused maid, who was instructed - politely - to bring her Humphrey. Scratching her head, the girl led her to the parlor. Hopefully her mistress would know what to do.

The rooms were well-decorated, if not exactly to Blair's taste. The flowers were wrong, for one thing. But there was potential.

She was met by a tall, thin girl with pale blonde hair. It was strange, really - Georgina had looked more like Humphrey than this girl did. But then there was that challenging stare; she recognised it, the natural defensiveness of someone who was used to feeling out of place - that much, she'd seen in Dan himself - coupled with a determination. Ambition. She could actually see how this girl had climbed up so high.

Still, it didn't intimidate her for a second.

"Good afternoon," she smiled. "Jennifer, is it? I'm Blair Waldorf. I met your brother on the journey over."

"You're _Blair_?" Blair arched an eyebrow, and Jennifer flushed a little. She managed to collect herself, but Blair could see the faintest hint of awe. It made her smirk. Jenny was not as experienced as she was pretending to be. This was what Blair_ lived _for. That look in their eyes.

"Is he in?"

"Uh, yes." And there was the stammer. Perhaps she was more like her brother than Blair had realised. Still, the girl pulled herself upright, nodding at the maid to fetch him. "Why do you want to see him?"

Blair paused. Was it too much of a lie to claim they were friends? Probably. It sounded like Jennifer had heard all about it anyway. "I have a message to pass on."

The girl was clearly desperate to know more, but remembered her manners. "Oh. All right."

She fidgeted almost nervously with her dress, shooting looks at Blair. Smiling.

"So...are you from New York?"

"Upper East Side," Blair replied idly. As if her clothes didn't spell that out. Still, she wouldn't want to get confused with the Upper West Side. Hideous thought.

"I love your dress," Jennifer added, and this time her eyes really shone. Blair saw it, the longing underneath.

And that made her smile too. She didn't bother returning the compliment. Although, in truth, Jennifer's dress wasn't hideous.

At long last, Dan appeared. He was actually wearing a half decent suit. Not Saville Row - but an improvement. (Not that there was much to improve from). She also noticed that he wasn't walking upright - his ribs still weren't fully healed - and there was a small chunk of hair missing where he'd clearly had stitches. The rest of his hair had been cut, and it did improve his appearance a little. Maybe Jenny had shown him to a decent barber's.

"What is it, Jen-"

He was cut off as he saw Blair, eyes bulging a little.

"Blair," he choked. "Blair Waldorf." He still hadn't learnt the manners of not staring. "I - wh - what are you doing here?" Or not stuttering.

Blair smiled sweetly. "I actually came to thank you, Humphrey. Believe it or not." Her lips pursed for a moment - actually being genuine, for once. "I'm aware I never apologised for what happened to you. And I understand you were trying to help." Her eyes flickered over the stitches. "Poorly," she mused. "But still. I appreciate the effort." Her eyes softened, for the briefest second. "Thank you."

He looked entirely gobsmacked. "I...uh, you're welcome."

She smiled again, a queen bestowing favors.

Jenny was watching the entire episode with increasing curiosity. She'd been enthralled enough when Dan had told her what had happened on the Olympic - if she hadn't known how awful he was at making up stories, she would've had a hard time believing it.

Blair cleared her throat. "I also have a letter that I wanted to give you." She held out the envelope she'd received from Carter.

It took Dan a second to take it, reading her name in confusion. "But it's addressed to-"

"I want you to read it." Slightly impatient.

Eventually, he obeyed - still confused - starting on the text.

"Chuck Bass was writing you love letters?"

She glared at him. "Not the point, Humphrey. Read on."

"He was _brooding_?"

"Humphrey!" Blair looked ready to kick him, and Jenny had the sudden desire to laugh. Dan had made this Chuck Bass character out to be some kind of monster. "Are you going to read it, or not?"

He raised a hand in defense. "Reading, reading."

His expression grew serious once he reached the point she'd expected. He looked up at her, eyes wide. "Carter Baizen loves Serena?"

Blair sighed. "Well, that's debatable. I'm not entirely sure Baizen is capable of love." She really _wasn't_ sure. "But he wants her, anyway."

Dan's brow furrowed, darkening a little. "He can't. He doesn't deserve her."

There, _that_ was what Blair had wanted to hear. She studied him, the unconscious clenching of his fist, and was pleased.

It took Dan a few moments to collect his thoughts, rereading the letter. He was still frowning as he looked up at her. "Why are you showing me this?" he asked, finally.

"Because there's contact details for a private investigator. And I want to you to use him."

"You want me to find Serena?"

She rolled her eyes a little. "Well done, Humphrey."

Jenny couldn't stop a slight grin. She leaned forwards. "Wait, Serena is Savannah, right?" Her eyes widened. "Dan, you _have_ to find her." Glanced at Blair. "He's so in love with her."

Dan flushed immediately. "All right, Jenny-"

"Are you going to find her or not?" Blair cut in impatiently.

"I...Don't even know why I'm pretending to hesitate." Dan shook his head. "Of course I am." His brow remained furrowed, though. "But what about Carter?"

Blair shrugged. "He's in England. And will be for the next five years." Carter _didn't_ deserve Serena - he hadn't done anything to prove he did, anyway. Of course, she couldn't have said with a hundred percent certainty that Humphrey deserved her, either; but he at least was a good person. Even if he _was_ poor. And even when Humphrey did find her, the choice was Serena's.

"But..."

"If you love her," Blair said shortly, "Then you'll fight for her."

Dan blinked. But he nodded, slow.

"Why don't you want to find her?" Jenny's voice piped up.

Blair gave her a look. She was ready to retort that it was none of the girl's business, but she found herself faltering a bit, for the first time since she'd entered the house.

"I just...can't."

She wasn't too sure Serena would _want _to be found by her. And she still wasn't sure she could handle seeing the child, however weak that made her. What if she couldn't? Even after all this?

But she did want to know that Serena was all right.

"Can I trust that you'll get straight to it? When are you getting back to New York?"

This caused a glance between the two siblings. Dan pulled a face.

"Well, I wanted to travel next week. But Jenny doesn't want to go."

Jenny scowled at him. "I told you, I'm busy here."

But before Dan could start on his rant that it was only a couple of weeks, and their father hadn't seen her for a whole year, Blair intervened with an irritated sigh. Fascinating though their little argument was.

"I don't know how you haven't realised this yet - especially given who your husband is - but there's talk of a war. So I'd advise leaving as soon as possible."

Dan's jaw dropped; trust him to be behind the times.

"How did you not know about this?" he demanded, turning on his sister.

Jenny floundered a little - "I don't know, Damien didn't-"

Blair got to her feet, shaking her skirts. "I'd talk to him." She picked up her bag, barely sparing them a final glance. "Good day." And she swept out.

* * *

Chuck's own ship was scheduled to leave several hours before theirs; early morning rather than early evening. They stood at Calais, the _Magistrate_'s funnels distinctly less impressive than the Olympic's had been. Eleanor had already kissed Chuck's cheeks, and had actually stepped back to let him say goodbye to Blair. Under the pretense of ordering the porters around, of course. Even if it wasn't her luggage.

Chuck gazed at Blair, close enough to catch her breath as she drew her shawl tighter. "Saying goodbye is getting rather tedious," he drawled softly.

She managed a smile. "Stop trying to change the subject. I know you're desperate to find out what happened in England."

He feigned a look of disinterest. "Not really. Although," he added as an after thought, "I am interested in your other little task." He lifted an eyebrow. "You said you'd tell me when you got back."

"I said if you were lucky," she corrected. "And you haven't even asked nicely."

"My apologies," he smirked. "What was the other task, your highness?"

"Better." She sighed. "I went to see Humphrey." Studied his reaction; "And I told him to find Serena."

She wouldn't tell him about the letter from Baizen. She didn't want to embarrass him - well, not yet, anyway. She could use it to torture him with later.

(That was what she was telling herself. Even though she knew she was secretly too thrilled to - it would be just as embarrassing for her. It still gave her that warm squirming fluttery feeling whenever she thought about it).

Chuck watched her carefully. "And?"

"And," she answered, just as careful, "He's going to."

He nodded. He knew not to push; he didn't really need to, either. He knew how much this meant to her - and she was grateful.

She was also fully aware he wasn't going to ask her about Bart. Just like she was aware it was what he was most desperate to know, even if he'd never admit it to anyone. Probably not even to himself.

She smiled up at him, very faintly, and suddenly reached up to lay a soft, silent kiss on his cheek. His eyes closed at the brief warmth of her lips, and her palm lingered there afterwards, fingertips brushing his mouth.

"I love you," she murmured, so soft it was almost a whisper. And her smile was sad. "And so does your father. Trust me."

His eyes closed again, trying to fight the harsh lump in his throat.

She brushed his cheek once more. "I'll see you in New York." She withdrew, still smiling.

No more goodbyes. Not for them.

* * *

Blair was just checking she had the last of her bags when a car drew up. She and Eleanor had spent the rest of the day shopping in Calais, and their ship was finally getting ready to leave.

The watched as the car door opened, and a figure climbed out. Her heart jumped into her throat. She stared, as his eyes scanned the crowds, clearly searching for her.

She took a step closer.

"Daddy."

He turned, and she saw the relief in his eyes, immediate. "Blair. I thought...I thought you'd already boarded."

Blair didn't even notice Eleanor watching nearby.

She shook her head, silent.

Harold swallowed. "I thought I'd missed my chance to say goodbye." He attempted a weak smile.

She hesitated; she'd never been so nervous around her father before, and his eyes crinkled in pain to see it.

"Blair-"

She cut him off, burying herself in his arms. Because at the end of the day, she just wanted to be held by her father. His arms came up, relieved, to wrap around her. She buried herself into the wool of his coat, aware of the sting of tears and the fact that she was no doubt leaving damp patches on his expensive cashmere.

But he didn't seem to care, squeezing her as tightly as he could; he was shaking, and if she hadn't know any better, she would have said he was crying too.

Eleanor, still watching, rolled her eyes a little. Trust over-emotional Harold to tear up. He really was a fool sometimes.

"I love you, Blair bear," he murmured tenderly into her hair, brushing her curls like he'd done when she was a little girl. And he smelt of her daddy; of peppermint and mild cologne and his soap.

"I love you too," she mumbled into his coat. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I know." He hugged her a bit tighter. "But not for too long."

She looked up, breath catching as her eyes shone with sudden hope. "You're coming home?"

"Soon," he assured her. "Very soon, my darling. I've booked tickets for May."

She tried not to let her face fall too much; because May was still five months away. He noticed, and hugged her again.

"I'll be counting down the days," he promised.

She nodded, eventually managing a real smile - because at least he'd set a date. "Me too."

He gave her a final squeeze, before the porters started calling for first class passengers to board. And at that Eleanor stepped forwards, clearing her throat.

"Shall we?"

Harold still had one arm wrapped around Blair, and he held out the other one to his wife.

She shook her head. "Oh, honestly," she sighed in exasperation. But she allowed herself to be embraced, even if it was with exaggerated disdain. "You're too soft, Harold."

Harold just smiled, holding them both tight. His girls.

Finally, Eleanor disentangled herself, shaking her hair. "Come on," she said briskly. "I don't want to be the last ones on."

Blair held onto her father's hand for a few more moments, fingers enclosed in his.

"Soon," he whispered.

Eleanor exchanged a final glance with her husband, head dipping for the briefest of seconds; and then they were off.

Home.

* * *

**A/N - Phew, sorry that took so long to write...but it is my longest chapter yet. Thank you so much for all your reviews last chapter! **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N So I've really, really been struggling to come up with the right ending. I'd planned on finishing the fic this chapter, but a) I've enjoyed writing this so much so that I don't really want to stop and b) while this is an ending of sorts, I don't want to rush into a perfect conclusion. So I'm considering writing a sequel - and was wondering if people would read it if I did?**

**And thank you so much for all of your feedback :)**

**

* * *

**"Eleanor's asking about a wedding again."

The evening was cool and clear, and the sun was on the verge of setting against the skyline, blending the buildings into a towering haze. The graveyard, nestled behind the back of the cathedral, was slanted in shadow. And almost empty, save one figure. A young man with dark hair, expensively dressed, coat buttoned up against the autumn breeze.

He was leaning, quite comfortably, next to a white headstone that read _Nate Archibald. Beloved son, husband, and best friend. _The grave was in good condition; white marble clean, fresh flowers neatly arranged and well-lit.

Chuck's voice was low, almost inaudible - not that there was anyone there to hear it. Save the old caretaker, who was used to seeing him anyway.

"She keeps dropping hints." Chuck rolled his eyes a little. "She claims a year is more than enough time."

Had someone told him more than year ago that he'd be one of those fools sitting talking to an empty gravestone, he would have laughed. He'd started going just to check the grave was tended - not that he needed to, since Blair was obsessive enough about that sort of thing. He supposed really he just wanted to see his best friend. And he liked it; liked the quiet and the privacy.

There was something exclusive and non-judgmental about the graveyard that gave him a sort of peace.

It wasn't like Nate had really offered good advice or a insightful point of view even when alive; Chuck hadn't needed him to. They'd used to spend hazy afternoons in cigar smoke, getting high and content in each other's company, talking about everything and nothing.

So it felt strangely normal, doing it now. A place to clear his head, like he'd always done with Nate before.

"I have to say that she's shown remarkable restraint," he reflected. "Bart too. It's almost like they're trying to be understanding." His lip curled a little. "Hard though that may be to believe. So," he mused, "I suppose I should be grateful they've waited at all."

He glanced up at the sky, eyes half closed as he took count of the clouds streaked orange. "She's driving Blair mad. Obviously." The shadows lengthened as the sun sank lower in the sky. "I know she's fine." He was talking about Blair now - and he did know, because he could tell at just a glance when there was something wrong with her. And there wasn't; she was more at peace than she'd been in a long time. "She just doesn't believe it yet." She was better, but she wasn't a hundred percent. He sighed drily. "Typical Waldorf."

The silence stretched out, deep and comfortable. There was the soothing rush of traffic somewhere in the distance, but Chuck was so accustomed to it that he didn't even hear it any more.

War had broken out officially, though it had yet to even touch most of their lives. America was maintaining a position of neutrality; the most that reached them were distant stories of trench warfare and the chaos that had descended on Europe. Most Upper East Siders were content to carry on in their decadent ways, safely separated by the vast expanse of ocean.

Not the businessmen, though; as ever, Bart Bass was three steps ahead. The impacts on trade were starting to grow noticeable, and Bass Industries had felt them already.

The venture in England had turned into an unmitigated disaster the moment Austria-Hungary's archduke was assassinated; the complicated series of alliances suddenly found England plunged into war before even Bart had anticipated, and defending a country left little room for the hospitality industry.

He'd been home by spring. And, with him, Carter Baizen. The contract held no standing when there wasn't even a business left in London. Nonetheless, Bart's next decision was still a sore point.

He'd informed Chuck he was keeping Baizen on. Despite everything, he'd worked hard in London. Baizen was actually _good_. The fact that Bart had given him the lowest of clerical jobs, and was making him work up from the bottom - no contract, this time; Baizen would have to continue to prove himself - was of little comfort.

They still had to work in the same company.

The competition had stopped it being about just trying to prove himself to his father. Chuck never worked harder than when he had a rival. If he hadn't known any better, he would've wondered if that was partially the reason Bart had kept Baizen on. (No, surely not).

In any case - the disaster in England had turned out surprisingly well for Chuck. The moment he'd got back to New York - with Bart still safely in London - he'd set about developing Bass Industries' venture into the entertainment industry. Starting with the property Nate had left him. He finally had something that was _his. _Bart's reaction had been silence when he'd eventually returned.

Yes, Chuck had gone behind his back.

But it was worth it, and he had the numbers to prove it. He'd handed Bart the folder and waited. Waited for the irritation; the disappointment, despite what the numbers showed.

Bart had read through the numbers, carefully, and then glanced at his son.

He'd nodded. "Well done."

It had taken Chuck a moment for the words to sink in; his stance was already tensed, already ready to defend himself. And then all he could do was stare like an idiot. Bart had eventually waved him along - "Don't you have a night club to look after? I expect the same quality of results."

Chuck was throwing a party there tonight in honour of Bart's fiftieth birthday. One of the parties of the year, of course. Luckily with Blair's touch and Blair's guest list to ensure class - night club or not.

Blair had managed to keep herself almost as insanely busy, if not more so. Someone other than Chuck Bass might have lost count of the number of organizations and events she'd commanded; the number of foundations she'd climbed in almost a year. She was taking her dictatorship over the women of the Upper East Side very seriously.

And Chuck and Blair...were keeping their hands off each other. Willpower had never been something either lacked in. But maybe there was a reason they were tackling their work with quite so much energy. _Too much_ energy.

An illicit affair would have taken serious concentration (not that they hadn't accomplished it before) - so in some ways, it was a relief when they were together in public and couldn't do anything anyway. It was those fleeting moments alone; when they plotted, when their plans fell into place, when she arrived in a gorgeous dress, dances at parties - he wasn't really sure how he'd ever managed to keep his hands off her before.

He'd promised her he would wait, and he wasn't about to let her down. Not again. So he'd kept careful watch as she pieced her life back together, over every step, helping whenever he could. (Whenever she wouldn't find out, since she'd definitely refuse it). Though he had a feeling she knew anyway.

And their parents_ had_ been patient. For Bart Bass and Eleanor Waldorf.

Which wasn't to say it had been easy. Just because he'd been friends with Blair practically his whole life - probably loved her that long, too, if he was being honest - didn't mean he _could_ just be her friend. Ever. He could be her ally; her scheming partner and critic and co-conspirator. He could pick her up and hold her or shake her in moments of weakness. He could listen to her plans and entrust her with his - and there was no one else in the world that knew how to drive him as crazy as she did.

At the moment, they weren't speaking. Or rather she wasn't speaking to him. It wasn't an openly hostile war - more one where she fumed and he refused to back down.

Lord Marcus was from England, and had come to America to avoid the war. And, apparently, to enjoy American women. Chuck had promised he would wait - and that didn't mean standing by and watching as fools from England made their suit for her. Unfortunately she'd found out about his various schemes to stop said fool - as only Blair could - and was, apparently, enraged.

There had been accusations of him not trusting her, followed by further fury when he didn't show a scrap of remorse. But he _wasn't_ sorry, because when it came to Blair Waldorf, he wasn't risking anything getting in their way again. And he had ammunition - when that French girl Eva had made a play for him, only a few months ago, Blair had got her deported. Her response had been that she was only looking out for him, since the girl was clearly after his money.

Chuck had been amused at the time - but now it was just double standards.

Anyway, she would _have_ to talk to him tonight. Though he suspected she was planning on torturing him more; she was probably plotting her outfit right now.

He got to his feet, brushing down his suit. (He'd need just as much time to make sure he was up to her standards. Nothing short of perfection). His eyes lingered one final time on the white headstone, mouth curling slightly as he murmured, "See you soon, Archibald."

He nodded briefly at the caretaker as he left.

It was as he reached the gates of the graveyard that he saw the figure approaching. Two figures, in fact; though one was pint sized and being carried by the other. It was the halo of golden hair - messy and uncovered - that drew his attention. The height, the lopsided grace. And the fact that she was clearly in her own world; she nearly hurried straight past him and into the cemetery, with nary a single glance in his direction.

His voice stopped her.

"Serena."

She whirled round in confusion, eyes widening and grip tightening on the child - and then skidded to a halt as she finally saw him, recognised him. Froze.

"Chuck. What...what are you doing here?"

He arched an eyebrow. He highly doubted Serena had any relatives buried next to the cathedral. "The same thing as you, I should think," he answered drily.

She faltered. "I thought...coming so late, there wouldn't be anyone here."

He rolled his eyes. That was the same reason_ he_ came at this time. Appraised her in silence. "So, you've decided to return to Manhattan?"

She chewed on her lip as she shifted the little girl to her other hip. "Not exactly. My mother...well, she invited me. For a party. Apparently she's got a new man."

"So you've mended the rift?"

Most of Manhattan knew that Lily van der Woodsen hadn't spoken to her daughter since she'd left for that 'women's institute' in Maine. From the glimpses he'd seen of Lily, it was clearly a Rhodes trait that she'd handed down to her daughter - the ability to cut off all communication. Drift away.

Serena's mouth twisted a little. "Let's just say we're on the way." She looked him over, finally breaking from her own bubble. "So...how are you?"

"Fine," he responded wryly. He knew what she _really_ wanted to ask. But he wasn't about to pander to her. She'd have to approach it herself. "And how's Brooklyn?"

She paused. "It's...well, it's great."

"It's not Manhattan," he stated bluntly.

"No," she admitted, almost sheepish. "But...so, have you...settled down?" She looked slightly doubtful as she asked it. Who would ever think _Chuck Bass_ could settle down?

"Why, have you?"

It had used to be what tied them together as Nate and Blair settled for their (apparently) inescapable future together; Serena, twirling on tables as she proclaimed no man would ever have her, both of them agreeing in drunken corners that marriage was ridiculous.

Her face softened slightly. "I'm married."

"To Humphrey?"

She jumped, a little - "How did you - ?"

"We met on the _Olympic_. On the way to England."

She stared, and he regarded her back quietly. So Humphrey hadn't told her.

"He was traveling with Georgina."

Serena's face went white, and her grasp round the child actually slipped; Chuck grabbed the little girl before she fell. He looked down at her, holding her slightly awkwardly - the golden hair, those blue eyes - and was surprised to realise that he felt no pain. Just sadness, because she looked so much like his best friend. She opened her mouth and started to wail, disturbed - and Serena collected herself.

She shook a little, swallowing, and took her daughter back. The girl's hand was still wrapped around Chuck's finger, though, as she continued to cry. Chuck was slightly taken aback by the tightness of the little thing's hold, still unused to infants as Serena jiggled her up and down, trying to calm her.

"It's all right, baby, mama's here." She kept rocking till the wails stopped, and Chuck finally, gently managed to prise his finger away.

Once she was quiet, Serena went back to staring at him. "What?" Her voice stuck a little. "Georgina Sparks?"

"Who else?" He pursed his lips, checking her hold was firm around the girl this time. "I know everything," he told her flatly; and, before she could interrupt, "Georgina's dead."

Serena's mouth went slack.

"She can't do anything," Chuck stressed. He watched her. "You're safe."

Realisation finally dawned and Serena closed her eyes, tight, clutching her daughter as she pressed her face into the little girl's curls. Chuck watched, seemingly impassive. Serena's shoulders were actually shaking with relief. She finally looked up. "It's really over?" she whispered.

Chuck nodded. "It's over." He glanced towards the graveyard; the sun had already set, and the caretaker would be locking up soon. "You've probably only got a few minutes," he said pointedly.

Serena remembered herself. "Thank you." But she paused, dithering. "Chuck." She brought herself to look at him, teeth frantic on her lip. Eyes glistening, shadowed. "Is Blair...?"

Chuck was silent for a moment. "She misses you," he said at last.

Serena swallowed, giving a faint nod.

Chuck dipped his head briefly back, and then they went their separate ways.

* * *

Blair stood in the centre of the room, flanked by the girls she liked to call her minions. She had spent an hour going through her dresses till she'd decided on the perfect one. It was a deep violet colour; silk skirts, a narrow waist and tight bodice, rucked sleeves. She'd accessorized with long black gloves, heeled court shoes and a black pearl necklace. Her makeup was flawless, her hair elegantly curled. She'd been torn - did she deliberately cover up, just to torment him; or show as much skin as she dared?

But too much skin had never been Blair Waldorf's style. So she'd settled on glimpses, since that would _really _get to him.

She was apparently listening intently to the women surrounding her, but in truth, there was a sort of restlessness coursing through her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it - she should have been satisfied, to finally have society eating out of the palm of her hand. The room was packed, and it was still empty. Because the stupid Basstard was late.

And probably deliberately late, too. Just so he could make an entrance.

She glanced up as Marcus approached, and her lips curled into a victorious smile. He'd been a last minute addition to the guest list, following her row with Chuck. The nerve of it - suggesting that she couldn't take care of herself? That she'd allow herself to be swept away by a - frankly, dull - Englishman? Who did Chuck think he was dealing with?

Well, she'd show him. Remind him.

"Marcus," she smiled sweetly, allowing him to kiss her hand. His lips were disappointingly cold. "I'm so glad you could come."

His grin back was rather bland as he offered to get her a drink, and she let him.

_Where _was Chuck?

"Blair, this party is divine!" Blair looked up to find herself face to face with Ingrid Haversham - chairwoman of the Colony Club. She felt a flicker of excitement, temporarily distracted. The Colony Club was one of the most prestigious foundations, and number one on her list of entering. And Ingrid was _here_, at the party she'd organised.

That was surely a good sign.

"Thank you," Blair beamed back. And, remembering to reign her excitement in, "I hope you'll enjoy the rest of the evening."

The party _was_ divine; the champagne flowing freely, the room so gorgeously decorated it was barely recognizable as a night club, and the guests each more beautifully dressed than the next. So Blair pushed aside the nagging sense of dissatisfaction.

Marcus came back then, drink in hand. And Blair knew how impressive it looked to have a lord waiting on her. It couldn't have gone more perfectly if she'd planned it; Ingrid's eyes had practically popped out. Marcus was...the perfect escort. The perfect gentleman.

_Where_ was Chuck?

"Blair, let me introduce you to my husband. This is Alex."

Blair smiled again and shook the man's hand. She could tell at a glance that he was old money. Girth already starting to expand with middle age, hair thinning, top and tails. Dull eyes. Cold handshake. Ugh.

His kiss on his wife's cheek was brief and perfunctory, her hand barely brushing him, and devoid of any warmth. He had disappeared within a few moments without even a backwards glance.

Ingrid smiled with vague fondness. "Off for a cigar, I'm sure. Men!"

The women surrounding them tittered and nodded in empathy. Understanding. Blair forced a smile. She'd seen couples like them a thousand times before, and it had never really occurred to her. All she'd really cared about was how impressive they looked together, the suitability of the match - but what must it be like? Living all your life with a man who barely _looked_ at you? Did they even sleep together?

There was something eerily familiar about the way Alex had kissed Ingrid. The way he'd left. What was it?

"Blair."

She blinked as she realised Marcus had been talking to her. Since when was Blair Waldorf unfocused? She snapped to attention instantly, flashing him the proper smile.

"Are you all right?" he chuckled.

"Perfect," she smiled back. Perfect.

When she got her hands on that _Bass_-

"Would you mind if I joined Alex for a cigar?"

Yes, actually. Not that she particularly wanted to talk to him; but still. Blair Waldorf expected undivided attention. How did he not realise this?

"Of course not," she assured him.

"I'll hurry straight back," he promised.

_Please don't._

"I look forward to it." Her smile didn't even falter.

He moved off, and that was when it struck her. The blond head disappearing. How many times had she watched Nate kiss her cheek, charming, and then slip out of her company?

And the realisation, for some reason, chilled her to the bone.

* * *

"Charles."

Bart appeared just as Chuck was fixing his purple bow tie. He turned immediately, already standing straighter.

"Father." He grinned. "Are you ready for the festivities?"

Bart rolled his eyes a little, though his expression wasn't too serious. "As I'll ever be, I suppose." His eyes flickered over his son and he gave a brief nod, almost to himself. "I'm proud of you, Charles."

Chuck paused. He didn't think he'd ever get used to hearing those words from his father. Or be able to contain the sudden glow spreading from inside him. And this praise was especially unexpected - he and Bart had both been so busy, their paths had barely crossed for the past few months.

He cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir."

Bart nodded again, smoothing down his tie. "I have something for you," he announced. With a brief glance at his son, he pulled out a small velvet box. Chuck stilled. Bart opened it, briskly; and lying inside, a collection of dazzling diamonds sparkled on a single ring.

Chuck could only stare. "Is that...?" he managed at last. He looked up at his father. "Mother's engagement ring?"

Bart handed it to him. "Yes." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure you know what to do with it."

Chuck gazed down at it. He shook his head, slowly. "Thank you, father." He was still holding it as his eyes met his Bart's. "But I don't want it."

Bart stiffened instantly. "What?" His voice was sharp.

Chuck closed the box, carefully. "I...already have a ring," he admitted. He'd bought it because his first thought upon seeing it was Blair. It was a single diamond; large, elegant, and classic. His mother's ring was certainly beautiful. But it wasn't really Blair. And he wanted to give her something that he'd bought himself; that he'd bought for her and her alone. Something that was _theirs. _

(Chuck and Blair; not the trade of a van der Bilt legacy for a Bass one).

Bart lifted his brow again. He regarded his son, mouth pressed. "So you_ are_ planning on proposing?"

Chuck's own mouth twitched slightly. "Yes."

Of course he was. But _when_ was up to Blair. It wasn't like Chuck to be patient; but for Blair, he would wait as long as it took.

He glanced at his mother's ring again. "Father," he said quietly. "I know how much this ring means to you. But it's yours." He held it out to Bart. "You should keep it."

Had Chuck not known better, he would've sworn he saw a flash of - relief? guilt? gratitude? - on his father's face. But then the usual impassive mask slid back into place as Bart took the ring back.

He nodded, stiffly. "Very well."

Chuck studied him almost apprehensively, wondering if he was annoyed.

"I appreciate the thought," Bart stated rigidly. "Though you should know that I don't need a piece of jewelry to remember your mother." (Still, his hand had closed tightly over the box). He leveled a final look at his son. Mouth curved, just the smallest bit. "Don't wait too long."

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

"So, Blair, do you enjoy polo?"

_Polo_?

"Oh, I love it."

The only reason she went to a polo match was the outfits. What was so fascinating about a group of smelly horses and their sweaty jockeys?

But Marcus had already started on a series of hilarious polo match anecdotes. She could feel herself smiling and nodding just like she'd done when Nate had started on his football stories. She didn't _care_ about sports.

She'd played lacrosse at school - but only because it was expected for perfect grades. And she'd enjoyed wielding the power of the stick. But this? How hard did she have to grit her teeth?

"...And then he fell right off his horse!"

She was working so hard on forcing a laugh that she noticed the change in the room's tension too late.

She felt her body prickle, suddenly; and then an arm wrapped smoothly around her waist, hot even through the fabric of their clothes, brushing the small of her back, and a voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up murmured into her ear, "Miss me?"

She went rigid even as she was melting into that hold, body seeking the heat of his. Something somewhere in the back of her mind pointed out that this hadn't been the plan; she was meant to be torturing him, not the other way around. But she'd sort of forgotten that already.

He chuckled, low, against her neck; and before she could protest he was smiling at their company, with a drawl of, "Chuck Bass." He didn't loosen his hold around her even as he was shaking their hands.

He was also quite deliberately ignorant of Marcus' ruffled feathers. He continued laying on the charm, and she could_ feel_ his smirk; his amusement.

Finally, she'd had enough. Her fingers tightened, unseen, on the side of his jacket as she hissed under her breath, "I need to talk to you."

Another faint grin as he excused himself, swiftly - "I'm sorry, I'll have to borrow Blair for a moment to talk about refreshments," - and then whisked her away, hand never leaving the small of her back.

He went to stop once they were out of earshot, but she kept going; marched straight out of the room and behind a pillar, where they were completely hidden from sight. He followed, amusement increasing the further away they got.

It was when they came to a stop that she whirled on him, striking him on the chest. Hard.

"Ow." He winced. That, he hadn't been expecting.

She glared at him. "You're late."

He attempted a smirk back. "And you...are ravishing." He said it slowly and deliberately as his dark gaze raked over her body, grazing the bare skin of her collarbone and resting on the fierceness of her eyes. He did love her.

She should have been pleased that her dress had the desired effect, but all she could feel was those shivers. Sheer longing. His eyes had driven all thoughts of victory out of her head, and she found herself moving closer.

Her hands suddenly slid to the front of his jacket, taking hold as she pushed him back against the wall. Because _God_, she'd missed him.

For once, she'd actually displaced him - he flattened against the wall, staring at her as his hands curved automatically around her waist. Studying her.

"Blair?"

Her fingers gripped his clothes a little tighter, sliding up to the collar of his shirt as she lifted her head and pressed her lips against his.

"I need you," she whispered into his mouth.

His hold tightened, and she kissed him more urgently.

"I need you," she begged. "To make me feel alive." She kissed him again, and again; "I missed you."

She gazed up to him, brown eyes shining in the semi darkness. Shining with caught breath; half pleading, half questioning that he'd push her away and ask what the hell was going on. It only took him a glance to read her, and then his mouth on hers put a swift stop to that doubt. He didn't push her away; he pulled her closer, exactly what she wanted, so that she could feel his body burning hers, his mouth tracing a scorching path that sang away the cold blandness of the evening, quenched the ache inside her.

He led the way into the back room - she was too busy kissing him, clinging to him, to even really notice where they were going. She'd missed his mouth and his taste and scent -

Chuck at least had the sense to lock the door behind them, propelling her onto the couch. His hands had already fisted on the skirts of her dress, pushing it up, gripping her waist as his other hand buried in her hair. She dropped back onto the cushions, her own hands ripping at his shirt. But then she pulled at his shoulders, wriggling herself round so that she was straddling him. His hands caught the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer towards the hardness of his trousers.

He finally broke for the briefest breath, leaving them both panting as her fingers raked through his hair.

"What happened to waiting?" he gasped. It had meant to sound slightly wry, but he couldn't even pretend to feign detachment.

"We've waited long enough," her answer, even breathy, was adamant.

Her lips attacked his again, fingers burrowing for the buttons of his clothes. She needed him, and she needed him _now_. She didn't even know how she'd waited this long. (Neither did he).

* * *

Eleanor kissed Bart on the cheek to wish him a happy birthday. Even she had to admit, her daughter had done a good job with the party. Especially considering neither child had used their parents' help for any of it.

"Have you seen Charles?" Bart asked her, scanning the room.

Eleanor glanced round. "He's probably with Blair in the back room, plotting their next strategy." Chuck had - eventually - proven his trustworthiness. Though if they were gone any longer, she'd be sure to go and find them. For propriety's sake. She was fairly confident Blair wouldn't risk staying away from her own party for too long anyway. Not when she could see Ingrid Haversham waiting on the other side of the room.

Bart frowned. "Well, he'd better be along soon."

Eleanor's eyebrows arched. "Ah, of course. Your mystery woman. Am I to understand we'll finally get to meet her?"

"Actually," Bart sighed, "She's here already. And I believe you already know her."

Eleanor followed his gaze to see that two blonde women had just entered the room. A mother and daughter that she did indeed know already. Her eyes widened slightly, turning back to Bart.

The elder of the two women arrived first, presenting her hand to Bart. He cleared his throat.

"Eleanor, may I present Lily van der Woodsen. My fiancee."

Lily gave a slight laugh, embracing her. "I don't think you need to introduce me to Eleanor, Bart."

Eleanor chuckled as she glanced between the two of them. "Well, the both of you certainly kept that quiet." She studied them questioningly, waiting for the explanation.

They were interrupted by a younger voice.

"You're _engaged_?"

Their attention was drawn to the other blonde; a girl Eleanor hadn't seen in a very long time. "Serena," she smiled. "You're back." She held her arms out. "It's lovely to see you again, dear."

She'd always had a soft spot for her daughter's best friend.

Serena, however, was busy glaring at her mother. "You're engaged?" she repeated. "To_ Bart Bass_? When were you going to tell me this?"

Lily rolled her eyes a little. "Well, Serena, it's a fairly recent development. We haven't told anyone yet." She sighed. "And it's not exactly like you've been around to find out."

Sensing that Serena was about to answer back - and that the outbreak of a full-on van der Woodsen argument was just around the corner - Eleanor interjected. "Serena," she smiled. "I must go and get Blair. I'm sure she's dying to see you!"

That knocked the wind straight out of Serena's sails, but Eleanor was already striding away. Hopefully Blair would keep Serena away from her mother for the rest of the night.

The door to the back room was locked, and she tapped on the panels impatiently.

"Blair!" she called in. "Blair, it's Serena!"

* * *

"I love you," Chuck whispered into her, eyes locking with hers as his hands curled around her legs. She stilled for a moment, entire face softening as she gazed back down at him.

"I love you too," she said, quietly, smiling. Her fingers were slightly gentler now as she threaded them through the tufts of his hair. Her eyes lowered for a moment. "Thank you for waiting," she whispered.

Chuck grinned faintly, up into his kiss. "I told you I would." He brushed a loose strand of hair out of her face as she leaned over him. "As long as it takes," he promised into her collar bone.

"So you don't want to do this?" she teased.

He grabbed her instantly, pulling her back down. "No no. No going back on your word. You said we were finished waiting for _this_."

She laughed a little, the sound muffled as he kissed her soundly again.

She lifted herself away once more. "What if I'm finished waiting for everything else?" she asked. They stared at each other. Her fingers slid down, into the pocket of his trousers, wrapping around a small box. She pulled it out, lifting a brow. Half holding her breath. "Well?"

He was having difficulty breathing himself now. He searched her face. "Do you mean it?" His voice was low, raw.

"Are you asking?" she smirked. But her eyes were serious.

His hands slipped up her waist, curling around the bare skin as he held her, gazing up at her.

"Blair."

He flipped open the box, and she watched in silence. Tucked behind the strands of hair that had fallen over her face, waiting.

"Will you-"

"Yes." She interrupted him with a shower of kisses, arms wrapping tight around his neck.

And he could've sworn his veins sang with elation; with sheer, giddy joy even as he scoffed, protesting - "Waldorf, will you let me-"

"Yes," she repeated, again and again, as she kissed him. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you," she whispered. "I don't want to wait any more. I just want _you_."

His hands buried in her hair once more as he pulled her to him. "Good," he muttered into her lips, because his voice was too choked to say anything else, and he'd die rather than admit it. Which she knew.

His fingers sought hers, sliding the ring on; and they both admired it in silence for a moment.

Blair's eyes finally slid to his. "Now," she murmured, easing her body back onto his. "Where were we...?"

He groaned in appreciation, tugging her closer. It had been too long. He sat up, reaching for her as her fingers sought his scalp again. Finally, finally -

"Blair!"

They both stilled at the sound of Eleanor's voice. The knocking. Chuck was more than ready to ignore it -

"Blair, it's Serena!"

Blair's head shot up at that. Chuck had to bite back a moan at the loss of contact.

"Serena?" she repeated, almost stupidly.

"Serena's in Brooklyn," Chuck mumbled, conveniently forgetting that he'd seen her in Manhattan only that day. Serena was the_ last _thing on his mind when Blair was on top of him. He went to kiss her again, but she pulled back.

"No." She stared at him, and it was agony watching the haze of lust leave her eyes - "My mother just said she's here."

Chuck gave up trying to kiss her, suppressing a sigh of sheer frustration as he finally focused on what she was saying. There was going to be no sex.

She was already getting up, re-adjusting her dress. Trying not to scowl too hard, he sorted his owns shirt. Trust Serena to ruin everything. Blair's shoulders had already tensed, fingers seeking to smooth out her hair.

"What's she doing here?"

"Apparently her mother has a new man," Chuck recalled; and then Blair rounded on him.

"What?" she hissed. "You knew she was back?" She advanced, eyes flashing dangerously. "You _knew_, and you didn't tell me?"

Chuck grabbed her wrists to calm her. She was getting more and more wound up - and only Blair Waldorf could go from that happy to that insane in a matter of seconds.

"I only saw her this evening," he stressed. Raised his eyebrows. "You didn't give me a lot of time to tell you."

She accepted that, calming down a little. But only a little.

"I can't believe she's back." She started muttering to herself, turning away from him to pull on her gloves, slip her feet into her shoes. "And I know what you're thinking, Bass. I know you think this is going to make me lose it, but it won't. I'm fine. I'm just surprised." The pitch in her voice was gradually rising. "I can't believe she's back. I can't believe she's back, and I haven't - she hasn't-"

Chuck caught her again, turning her round to face him. "Blair," he said, warning. She stared up at him, eyes wide, shaking a little with her outburst. "You're Blair Waldorf." Couldn't resist the faintest of smirks. "Soon to be Bass." Her own face relaxed into a faint smile, though her eyes were still anxious. "We can handle this."

And, slicking back his hair one final time, he steered her out of the room.

* * *

All members of Bass Industries were invited to Bart's party, so not even Chuck could keep Carter off the guest list. Though it wasn't for wont of trying. Carter had arrived fashionably late (a party hosted by two people that hated him wasn't particularly enjoyable, even for him) to find the establishment in full swing. He was already bored, prowling through the masses to find an empty face he might enjoy the night with.

It was funny, considering he was actively making for blondes, that it took him a moment to see her. Too many people in the way. And as soon as he did, there could be no mistake. He didn't need to look twice.

There was only one blonde that tall, that radiant, that...

"Serena."

He'd come to a complete stop, and hadn't even realised that there were two brunettes also making a beeline for her. He stayed where he was, watching. For now.

It was hard to tell whose shoulders were tighter; Blair's or Serena's.

"Blair," Serena managed at last, softly.

They stared at each other.

"Well," Eleanor interrupted. "Isn't this wonderful? I know Blair has missed you terribly, dear." She ushered the two girls together with a wave. "And I'm sure you've plenty to catch up on. Blair, Charles - I believe Serena needs a drink." She gestured pointedly to the bar, indicating that the three of them should leave.

Blair and Chuck exchanged a glance, while Serena could only stare, helpless.

"Go_ on_, darling."

So, with great reluctance, they did as they were told; Chuck catching the small of Blair's back for silent support.

And once the children were out of the way, Eleanor went back to questioning Lily and Bart.

* * *

"Blair-" Serena started again, once the three of them were alone - but Chuck had just noticed his father on the other side of the room.

"What is Bart doing with your mother?" he cut in. Did his father have his _arm_ around Lily?

Serena's face darkened over, temporarily sidetracked from her apology. "They're engaged."

Blair felt Chuck freeze next to her, and, instinctively, caught his jacket. She glanced up at him, over to Bart and Lily in shock.

"Engaged?" she repeated, faintly, for his sake. Bart and Lily? It wasn't quite such a surprise for Lily - but _Bart_? Getting married? But that meant that Bart would be Serena's stepfather. That Chuck would be Serena's..._brother_. For once, she was actually at a loss for words.

Chuck was equally silent.

"My mother decided to announce it tonight," Serena added, still glaring. "Without telling me."

"Typical Lily," Blair muttered; and the girls exchanged a wry glance, forgetting for just a moment. And once they realised they'd caught each other's eye they paused. Caught.

"Blair," Serena whispered. "I'm so sorry." Her long fingers clutched her shawl as she lowered her head. "What I did was...unforgivable."

Blair watched in silence. "True," she reflected. But her facade was getting dangerously close to slipping. Because it was Serena - more than her best friend, more than her sister - and she was _here. "_But I suppose I've done some fairly unforgivable things too." Her voice caught, a little; a tight mumble as she couldn't stop her eyes flickering to Chuck's.

Serena blinked. Her gaze followed Blair's, and she seemed to finally notice how close Chuck was standing; notice his hand on her waist and her fingers...

"You're engaged too?" she squealed suddenly, goggling at the diamond that finger. "You two are _engaged_?" Head spinning between the two; "Chuck and Blair? You two? Blair and Chuck?"

"All right, S," Blair said between ground teeth, "Keep it _down_-"

"We were planning on telling people ourselves," Chuck answered drily; and their eyes snuck back to each other again, just for a moment, with the faintest of quiet grins. "So if you'd mind not announcing it to the room just yet, it would be greatly appreciated."

"I'm sorry," Serena breathed. She lowered her voice accordingly. "It's just..."

"What?" Blair demanded, soft. She searched her best friend's eyes, waiting to see the judgement in them.

But Serena just shook her head, mystified. There was no judgement; still amazement and a little guilt. "I've missed a lot," she murmured instead. Gazed at Blair. "Too much."

Blair half closed her lashes. "So have I," she whispered.

She could see Serena's eyes brimming with tears, and there was a lump in her own throat. Slowly, silently, she moved towards her best friend. Gave her one final glance, before she buried herself in her arms. Stopping her from saying anything else. She felt Serena's surprise turn to relief as she hugged the smaller girl back, almost tentative at first and then just as fierce, arms wrapped around each other.

Serena breathed out, finally, shoulders slumping into Blair's curls.

"I missed you, B," she whispered into her, tears stinging her vision.

Blair clung back. "I missed you too."

* * *

**Big Bad Bass Lands Double Wedding**

Following the announcement yesterday (_New York Times, Weddings) _that Manhattan's biggest billionaire Bartholomew Bass will be marrying society beauty Lillian van der Woodsen, _The Times _can report exclusively that there is another Bass engagement to celebrate - that of Bart's son, Charles Bass, to the lovely Blair Waldorf. Charles - known to his friends as Chuck - is a long time family friend of Miss Waldorf, and according to some speculation, has been courting her for over a year. Miss Waldorf was formerly married to Nathaniel Archibald, whose brave attempt to rescue a child from a burning building led to his tragic death last October. Eleanor Waldorf, Blair's mother, is reportedly "delighted" with the match; stating, "Charles is exactly what my daughter needs...and it's about time. I couldn't be happier". Blair's father was unavailable for comment, since he currently resides in the Waldorf's Connecticut home, but Eleanor has confirmed that he is "equally pleased".

In a rare sign of public address, Bart deigned to comment that Charles is "extremely fortunate" to have secured Miss Waldorf, and that he hopes his son will continue to "prove himself worthy" of his future wife. It had been noted before this that the couple were close, with friends speculating that it was only a matter of time - but the young Bass, nonetheless, has kept the relationship almost as closely guarded as the elder Bass has his. It seems ambition and a ruthless business sense are not the only traits shared by father and son. (_See pg. 22: Victor Victrola - Bass' Latest Venture Rakes in Millions). _ Both Bass Jnr. and Miss Waldorf have refused to comment, though they were spotted at the opera earlier this week holding hands, and, according to one source, made "a very handsome couple". Miss Waldorf is well known in Manhattan for her intelligence and beauty, and, as the recently elected - and youngest - chairwoman of the Girls' Foundation, one has to wonder at the force she and Mr. Bass will make now that they are united. The date of their wedding is unknown as of yet, though sources are certain it will not occur before Bart's. The idea of a shared wedding has been vehemently rejected.

Charles' engagement, meanwhile, is not the only cause of celebration - Lillian van der Woodsen revealed on Monday that her daughter, Serena, will be rejoining society with her husband Donald Humphrey. Serena's disappearance has been a cause of some speculation, and her return has certainly raised numerous heads; Lillian, however, has denied all rumours, stating simply that her daughter is "back where she belongs". Serena has purportedly spent the last few years in Brooklyn, where her husband is originally from. On an interesting side note, Mr. Humphrey will be joining his sister Jennifer on the Upper East Side - Jennifer is the wife of the diplomat Damien Dalgaard, and has only recently returned to America from England.

On behalf of the _New York Times_, we offer our congratulations to both Bass men, and wish them every happiness with their brides to be.

* * *

**A/N Apologies again that you had to wait so long for this ending. And thank you so much to all of my amazing reviewers:**

epicCHAIR, supernatural13, cj-the-greatest, flipped, QueenBee10, Izzie, ggloverxx19, cbcb, TriGemini, 88Mary88, Lala, Guardian Izz, BassKingdom, abelard, jsta, Krazy4Spike, Waldorf-Wannabe1812, Penelope, Ami, vivalachair, Thea, Koko, Tri utami putri, Lena Belle, CBBW3words8letters, HnM skinnys, cbcbb, louboutinlove, A Lover's Promise, plinnng, wrighthangal, GoodGirl793, delphin4ik, batgirl2992, libertine84, PacificRomance, Kassandra, D, Kate2008, Del, hannah, Mansah, QueenHoa, GaTiToDaRk, Cantik, Ami, Clara, hj, lovechair-hatedair, jiovanni, Alief, poppy72, geller516, bonafide11, Temp, bcbc, Curious Blonde, js, notoutforawalk, Sweet Darkling, cbforever, comewhatmay.x, sweetet89, MyMelo, vronica, ashabelle, rebekahwebster, chch, Dr. GG, BirkinBag.

**Also to anyone who reviewed anonymously :)**


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